Pros and Cons of Breathing
by MrTails
Summary: John Watson has no idea what Sherlock Holmes wants from him. Mycroft Holmes knows what Gregory Lestrade wants. Sebastian Moran know exactly what he wants to do to Jim Moriarty. Irene Adler still knows what people like. Henry is head over heels. Anderson, too [twice]. Sally's annoyed. Harry's unhelpful. Molly got exactly what she wanted and more. Is it graduation yet?
1. Chapter 1

[Pros] and [Cons]

Of Breathing

[Sherlock]the Sword and the Shield[Jim]

[Sherlock]the Rock and the Balloon[John]

[Jim]the Prince and the Tiger[Sebastian]

[Mycroft]the Nest and the Secret[Gregory]

[Harry]the Power and the Pride[Mycroft]

[Henry]the Wolf and the Lamb[Martin]

[Molly]the Whisper and the Whip[Irene]

[Anderson]the Vengeful and the Bitter[Sally]

[Anthea]

Chapter One: 221 Baker Street School For the Talented

Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

"I heard the school's going to start accepting paid scholarships."

"They've already lowered their scoring. I don't see how this will be much different."

"Because now we'll have really stupid rich people instead of just the smart rich people. Stupid rich people are gross and snobby and don't even do it right," Jim complained, kicking his heels against the side of the building. Sebastian held the back of his shirt to prevent him from taking a dive off the top of the six tiered building again.

"Honestly. If I could have paid my way in, I wouldn't have taken that stupid test. Now I'm going to have a whole bunch of bitchy rich boys in my business classes that don't even know what a business is."

"They'll rethink their decision when the school's test scores go down. It's inevitable."

"Easy for you to say. It's harder to pretend to be good at music," Jim scoffed. Sherlock only shrugged a little, though, agreeing with his friend carelessly. Quite honestly, it was easy for him to ignore people. It was a skill he had long since perfected to protect himself and his talent. If he let every idiot talk him into being ashamed of himself, he would have gotten nowhere.

"Carter is a cunt," Jim huffed, reaching back to take the cigarette out of Sebastian's hand and stealing a slow puff off of it. He held it in a moment before blowing it out the corner of his mouth and passing it back.

"Agreed," Sherlock answered, plucking at the strings of his violin. Sebastian offered him a drag on his cigarette and Sherlock gladly accepted, taking the fag between thin fingers and sucking in his fair share of sweet nicotine smoke. He passed it back.

"Let's put explosives in his office." Jim smiled back at his blond friend, a suggestive smile that could make poor Sebastian do anything under the sun. Unfortunately for Sebastian. He frowned.

"I have fireworks left over. That's it," Sebastian grunted, grabbing Jim around the upper arm as he flopped back onto the gravel rooftop. Sebastian dragged his little friend completely onto the roof, making sure he was safely stationary.

"Can you put them in his pants?" The Irish accent mused to the clouds. "Actually, anywhere near his genitals would be good."

"I'll see what I can do," Sebastian murmured, though he wasn't nearly as reluctant as he would have liked to have been. The principal was a cunt. Sebastian was, technically, expelled at the moment. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the school grounds, but Jim and Sherlock worked their magic in the same way they always did and no one actually knew. No record; no crime. Right on time, the bell rang and the two geniuses looked up to the old, rustic bell with similar frowned.

"I guess we should get to class," Jim said with a tired sigh. Sherlock nodded. Neither of them showed any sign of moving in any direction to do anything akin to going to class. Sebastian put his cigarette out in the gravel and grabbed Jim by the back of his collar. A heavy hand hoisted him off the ground and the tiny figure squirmed to getting his foot, still letting Sebastian do most the work. He grabbed Sherlock by his scarf and thankfully, the violinist followed with less reluctance, unwilling to be dragged and unwanting to be choked.

"Seb," Jim whined softly. "Class is boring. The teacher is stupid and my classmates are slow at best. Sebastian didn't dare released them until they were completely down the stairs and before the trio of lockers. Jim stuck his tongue out at him, but boredly went about spinning the combination on his locker excessively.

"I only came because it's Wednesday," Jim scoffed, opening his locker. He shuffled about it a little, collecting the excess of little 'love notes' from the last week. Sherlock settled his violin in the top of his locker and did the same.

"Eight!" Jim crinkled the papers between his fingers and thumb.

"Seven." Sherlock frowned at him.

"Fourteen." Sebastian actually glanced through his, however. He wasn't interested in any of them, but it was good to know. He'd look through Jim's too, but that was just to make sure Jim stayed away from them.

"What? How do you keep getting more than us? You're- you're not even pretty," Jim complained louder than he actually needed to. Sebastian didn't pay much attention to him. Of course he wasn't bloody pretty. Sherlock and Jim were 'pretty' which was probably why Sebastian got most of his love letters from girls.

"It's his features, clearly." Sherlock leaned into the lockers to Sebastian's left and peeked over his love letters to view his face. Jim mimicked him on Sebastian's right. "Intelligent people,"

"Using the term loosely."

"Are more often attracted to abnormal features. You and I have symmetrical faces, making us the targets for the more average population while Sebastian has uneven features due to his scarring and rugby injuries." He explained, pointing out the obvious marks and cuts on his friend's face. Sebastian ignored them.

"He's big, too. A protector type. More appealing to non-dominant personality types. Even in a school like this, sports are considered a valid form of entertainment, making Sebastian easily one of the most popular males in such a small school. What would you say, second?" Jim continued, squeezing Sebastian's firm, muscular upper arm with pointy fingers.

"Likely. Watson clearly takes first. Lestrade third. As far as sports go," Sherlock stated as if it were so simple.

"I wonder how many love letters Watson gets. His skill in rugby and his grades make him desirable to both sides. He's stupidly kind, decently handsome, and utterly normal. He's an overlap." The two geniuses nodded to one another, approving their combined idea. Neither of them actually cared, but it was something to keep them from gorging their eyes out in boredom. Sometimes Sebastian wondered which he preferred better.

"He doesn't get any. He has a girlfriend," Sebastian assured them, helping each of them (forcing both of them) to gather their things for the next class. Jim made his own money over the internet, taking care of himself and his needs without any help from his abusive father and neglectful mother, and he wouldn't be caught dead with a textbook. Like most of the school, he was on the edge of technology and even then, Sebastian had a hard time getting Jim to carry his tablet anywhere. Sherlock was only minutely easier and that was only because Sebastian could shove it in his coat pocket without any complaining. Jim and his bloody suits.

"That Hopper one?" Jim asked with an air of amusement.

"No. Sawyer," Sebastian corrected. Neither of them made any sign of knowing who that was. She wasn't exactly popular, after all. Watson kind of outshone her most the time. "Sarah Sawyer. Uh. I actually can't think of anyway to connect her to you."

"Then she's clearly dull," Jim scoffed.

"And a waste of time," Sherlock added.

"Besides. What does that have to do with receiving love letters?"

"Some people are actually courteous about whether the people they like is dating someone or not. Girls aren't going to send him love letters hoping he'll break up with her," Sebastian assured them in their daily dose of reality. Jim frowned in confusion and Sherlock's eyebrows came together. Not that they ever understood reality.

"I think we should send him some love letters," Jim announced.

"It would be a worthwhile experiment. The female Watson is gay, it would be curious to see how he reacts to it," Sherlock pondered back. The two of them walked in front of Sebastian, somehow always managing to exclude him and his smaller intellect. He had little hope of keeping up with either of them ever, so Sebastian never actually tried. It wasn't very rewarding anyways. He kept Jim from falling off buildings, and Sherlock from wandering into dangerous situations, and Jim getting in trouble and Sherlock from being bullied. In return, he could love Jim from up close and Sherlock wouldn't tell Jim of this infatuation. Sherlock agreed with him; Jim wouldn't return such mundane feelings.

"It would seem suspicious if we both sent him love letters. You play with Watson, who's more of his type?"

"Sherlock." Sebastian didn't miss a beat. He wasn't actually going to let Jim entwine himself with someone else. He did that all on his own, usually with someone far less intelligent despite all the complaining he did about stupid people. A second thought made his choice a good one regardless. Sherlock could get a rise out of anyone, even the calm tempered Watson.

"Mm. Lay it on thick, love," Jim purred.

"Let me use your red ink," Sherlock shot back, which was more than enough to answer. Using combined techniques learned from entertainment sources and the letters he received he could scrap together a convincing display of affection that will cause a variety of responses from his target. Sherlock wasn't sure what those responses would be just yet, but that was the point of the experiment.

"Don't expect much. Like I said, he does have a girlfriend and he is generally collected," Sebastian offered up even though he knew they were only challenges for the geniuses. Watson had one hell of a temper, but he knew how to control it most of the time. When he didn't people got hurt; badly. Sure enough, Sherlock ignored him. As they sat together in criminology, Sherlock scrolled out an elegantly written love letter with his danity pen and red, red ink. Jim's handwriting made the ink appear as though it'd been touched by death but Sherlock's hand flowered in an artistic touch. He must have been mimicking it from someone or somewhere. Sebastian never actually knew what his real handwriting looked like, if he had one. It confused the teachers constantly, especially when he and Jim insisted on using the same font. Neither of them were cheaters, but it was just unsettling at the best of times.

Sebastian knew he should be watching what Sherlock wrote, making sure it wasn't unusual, incriminating, or anything else that could possibly pop out of his pen, but he had already decided he wanted to stay as far away from this as possible.

While Sherlock wrote, Jim was busy flirting with his neighbor. Sebastian tried to pay attention to them and the class with little luck. He'd learned about sociopaths in his psychology class and unfortunately, both of his friends were sociopaths, so Sebastian couldn't wonder why Jim was so promiscuous. Sherlock wasn't in the least, but they were two sides of the same coin. Sherlock was the balance and form while Jim was the blade and mace. Sebastian supposed that made him the wielder, if his sword had a mind of its own, of course. And if he likes to stab himself with it repeatedly. He wasn't sure where this metaphor was going.

"Here. Give this to Watson," Sherlock instructed, handing him a pale envelope with 'John H. Watson' scripted on the front. Sebastian didn't want to know how he knew Watson's middle name.

"What? No. You give it to him." Sebastian wanted absolutely nothing to do with this. Watson was a teammate, though they weren't close friends, and he was generally a good person. Sebastian wasn't going to help them do anything dubious towards him. He wouldn't stop it, but that was the whole sword thing again.

"I can't." Sherlock sighed impatiently. Here came the explanation. "That dominate-confident behavior which is typically seen as alpha male behavior. If I appear too masculine, he will assume it is a 'prank'. Being too feminine will end the same. The letter itself is ambiguous. I need you to validate it. If I give it to him, it's confident and will make him nervous and unsure. I do not often associate myself with people like him. If you give it to him, he will take your presence as a confirmation that you wouldn't let any harm come to him and take the confession seriously."

"Duh, Seb. Don't be so obtuse." Jim giggled, leaning back and resting on Sebastian's shoulder. Fuck. That probably had something to do with the class. He needed to pay more attention.

"Can't you just act shy or something when you give it to 'im?" Sebastian nearly begged, even as he found himself moving to take the letter.

"Feminine behavior. Acting androgynous is disconcerting to people like Watson. It's for the best that you do it."

"Why don't you 'act' like yourself?" It wasn't like Sherlock was actively masculine or feminine. Sebastian wasn't even sure he was androgynous. Sherlock was malleable. It was no wonder he and Jim got along so well. That went back to the coin thing. Jim was both and Sherlock was neither. If there were any two people made for each other, it was Jim and Sherlock. Sebastian tried not to be jealous.

"God, Seb. We don't want to scare John away," Jim scoffed. Sebastian spotted the minute, barely noticeable expression that crossed Sherlock's face. Then again, maybe he didn't need to be too jealous.

"Alright. Fine." Sebastian tucked it into the pocket on his tablet to prevent it from getting crushed or burned in his trouser pocket. Sherlock and Jim spent the rest of the class using the inked pen on Sebastian's skin. He would have been upset, but rather than two guy friends who drew dicks on his arms, he had two friends who could complete complicated pieces of artwork. It would stain his skin for weeks, but at least he had a modern art statement of physics on one shoulder and the breakdown of chemicals on the other. The real reward was not having two bored sociopaths for a whole class.

His next class was just with Sherlock. Sebastian was both glad and worried. Glad because it was chemistry and Sherlock guaranteed him a good grade. Worried because that meant Jim had chemistry without him and that likely meant explosions. There hadn't been any problem yet, but it was bound to happen eventually. He lounged beside Sherlock, letting him do most of the exciting work on his own. Well, 'let' actually meaning Sherlock didn't like him touching anything unless he was told to. Sebastian didn't mind.

"Why do you keep pinning after Jim?" Sherlock mused, dropping a dubious looking liquid into a suspicious looking solid. Sebastian looked up from his tablet. "You know he'll deliberately hurt you if he ever found out. Not to mention your monogamous nature must make it displeasing to see Jim perform mating gestures with other people."

"I'm not monogamous."

"It means you prefer to be exclusive with your partner of choice."

"I know what it means."

"Then you wouldn't mind sharing Jim if he accepted your advances?" Sherlock glanced away from his experiment to look Sebastian in the face. Sebastian didn't answer. No; he wouldn't like that at all.

"I don't mean to pry, I'm simply trying to understand behavior of people like you. Obsessors have a higher chance of committed a jealous based crime due to love. A view of a codependent relationship will help me understand what path I should pursue with Watson," Sherlock mused on as he dripped a few more chemicals into his compound. It began to expand rapidly, bubbling out of the beaker and suddenly crystallizing into a single, shiny mass.

"Please stay on task, Mr. Holmes. I expect a solvent by the end of class," the teacher called from the front of the room. He was ignored.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't experiment on me," Sebastian scoffed.

"I'm not. I'm gathering data," Sherlock assured him as though that made it better. It didn't, actually. Not even in the slightest.

"Yeah, well why don't you 'gather data' elsewhere?"

"I can't. No one else shares a relationship like you. Besides, it's in my best interest to know your motives due to my likeness to Jim."

"I'm not going to commit a crime towards either of you," Sebastian assured him with a grunt of disapproval.

"I know. You're submissive. Jim would easily subdue you and big as you are, it would be easy for me to win a fight against you," Sherlock answered nonchalantly. That was comforting to Sebastian's ego, not that he didn't already know that. "But patterns are a valid source of information."

"Could we not talk about this," Sebastian grumbled reluctantly. Grey-blue eyes stared at him with the piercing gaze of a Holmes. He offered a small shrug, letting Sebastian know he would likely return to this conversation later. Sherlock grabbed his wrist and held his hand out above the desk. Before Sebastian could stop him, a strange liquid was being dropped onto the back of his hand.

"What the fuck! Ah!" It burned fiercely for several excruciating seconds and Sebastian clenched his hand as if it would stop. He smacked his fist against the tabletop viciously, startling the class already watching him. It stopped and Sebastian released his fingers. He tried to find his breath again, grinding his teeth in frustration. Sherlock examined the back of his hand.

"It worked," he announced carelessly. Sebastian glared at him. "An ink solvent. Perfectly safe to use on skin."

"Safe?" Sebastian snapped. "That burned like fuck."

"I said safe. Not painless," Sherlock corrected him. He turned to his tablet to scribble down whatever it was as the teacher hurried over.

"Mr. Moran! Are you alright?" the older man grabbed his hand, searching for any damage and finding none. Sebastian was just glad it wasn't a lingering pain.

"Yes," he ground out.

"I should suspend you for that, Mr. Holmes!"

"I said it's fine," Sebastian snapped protectively.

"It is not," the man continued firmly, doing his best to hold his strict attitude.

"Piss off," Sebastian growled, standing suddenly. Sherlock watched curiously and the rest of the class did the same. He was only sixteen and he was already taller than, well, everyone. Including the teacher. There was a moment of silence while he choose what to do. As it turned out, ignoring the problem was the answer. He turned away to return to his desk and Sebastian sat back down. He grabbed Sherlock around the collar, yanking him in close.

"Don't. Experiment. On. Me."

"I didn't. It's an ancient technical using the very basic active ingredients. It was an example, not a test." Sherlock always found loopholes, but he didn't so much exploit them than he just assumed that it was okay. It was so obvious to him, it didn't always occur to him that people didn't mention the small things because they weren't normal though.

"I hate you," Sebastian growled. Sherlock smiled a little.

Midday meal followed. Jim gladly launched himself at Sebastian in the middle of the hallway, hoisting himself onto the larger man's back and clinging there easily.

"Sebby! My teacher's a cunt!" he complained loudly, squeezing his arms around the younger boy's throat. Sebastian grabbed his arm to steady himself and keep Jim from strangling him.

"What happened this time?"

"He said my essay was inappropriate," Jim scoffed. Sebastian reached back to grab Jim around the thighs, holding his weight effortlessly. Sherlock trotted alongside them.

"Which version did you hand in?" Sebastian asked.

"Mine," Jim huffed. "Your corrections were stupid."

"Of course that was inappropriate. I told you," Sebastian sighed. Jim puffed his chest out, but ignored it.

"Because he's a cunt," Jim insisted.

"Yeah. He kind of is," Sherlock agreed.

"Your essay was inappropriate, too," Sebastian insisted. Sherlock didn't answer either. Death was simply not a subject someone needed to diverse into. And Jim didn't need to curse so much in his. Sebastian kept a hand on Jim's thigh while he bought his lunch. Neither genius bothered, though. They never did and Sebastian had to buy another lunch for the food they would steal off of his. They trotted out to the field where Sebastian's teammates were eating and practicing. John Watson, the rugby captain; Gregory Lestrade, co-captain; along with Sally Donovan, Paul Dimmock, and Henry Knight the football captain. Sebastian was the overlap. Sherlock and Jim weren't close friends with any of the other jocks and the jocks typically ignored Jim and Sherlock.

"This is so stupid," Jim complained as Sebastian dropped him on the bleachers. Sherlock seated himself in the grass, arm resting on the cool metal bench. "Sports are typically useless to the everyday person. I mean, if you're going to be a professional or join the army or something, fine; but how many people at this school are really going to pursue that career line?"

"Three of 'em are trying for police," Sebastian offered, lounging against the bench and starting on his lunch and lunch cigarette. Jim picked out his crate.

"I think Watson's going into medicine and Knight inherited his father's fortune already."

"Stupid," Jim scoffed. Sherlock was inclined to agree. Even so, it was clearly amusing to watch the group play with a football, aiming more to maim each other than actually practice. Sherlock pressed a foot against Sebastian's knee, getting his attention instantly.

"Now would be the ideal time," he insisted. Jim tossed another walnut at his mouth, which Sherlock was less reluctant to eat than he usually was. Sebastian sighed irritably.

"Now?" he demanded, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette and taking a quick drink from his soda can.

"Yes," Sherlock answered curtly. Sebastian handed Jim his cigarette, places his food aside, and withdrew the letter from his tablet pocket. This wasn't going to go well, but he didn't have a choice, did he? Slowly, he began the tortuous walk to his team.

Jim took a puff off of the cigarette before offering it to Sherlock who refused in order to keep a desired appearance for Watson. Jim giggled lowly.

"What'd you write, anyways?"

Sherlock & [John] & Greg

Moran's little friend bursted into laughter on the benches, spitting out the foul smoke in a huge puff. John stopped to watch, curious at the outburst. It wasn't unusual for Moran's friend, but it was still strange. Moran approached them and Greg tucked the oval ball under his arm.

"Watson," Moran nodded to him. John hoped he wasn't trying to get out of practice again. His friends were bad influences. "My friend wanted me to give this ta you," he murmured, not completely convinced of it himself, but still willing to hand the letter over. John accepted it kindly.

"You're, uh, friend?" he asked nervously.

"Sherlock," Moran assured him. Oh thank god. Holmes was far less worrying than Moriarty. John knew there were rumors that Moriarty liked to send passive aggressive letters to people that crossed him. Those people always left the school. Rumors that Moran confirmed.

"Open it, then," Greg insisted.

"I would suggest you do it in private," Moran suggested. John glanced toward the bleachers. Both of Moran's strange little friends were watching them closely. Sally scowled.

"Why? Is it a love letter?" she huffed bitterly.

"Yes," Moran informed simply. John blushed, much against his will.

"What?" Sally gasped before he could. That wasn't good. John glanced at her slightly. She couldn't possibly blame him for that. He couldn't control who Holmes liked. Sally had no interest in him, but her best friend was infatuated with Holmes. They'd all sort of figured he was asexual or something.

"I dunno." Moran shrugged. "I'm just delivering it," he assured them before beginning back toward his friends. "See ya at practice."

"It's got to be a joke," Paul insisted as they huddled around John. Everyone except Henry, of course, who was more interested it bouncing a football from knee to knee.

"Holmes doesn't like anyone," Sally agreed.

"Not necessarily. He could have always liked John. That would explain why he never responds to the love letters he gets. Too shy to do anything about it," Henry suggested helpfully. Greg snorted. Sally frowned her disapproval.

"Holmes? Shy? I don't we're talking about the same person, mate," she scoffed.

"You judge too quickly. If he's socially inept and shy, that's probably how he tried to make friends. You react badly and he refuses to try again. Remember when he and Jim met?"

"They got in a fistfight," John reminded him.

"Well, before that. They speak, I dunno, the same language I guess. You probably did something to make him think you understand him," Henry explained, bringing his ball under his arm to approach his friends.

"But he's a freak," Sally murmured, completely unconvinced.

"He's kind of a twat, too," Paul added.

"Yeah, but most of the school thinks he's a cute twat," Greg mused on. They all stared at the letter in John's hands, expecting him to open it. He wasn't. This was the sort of thing to be handled in private!

"Well, whatever. I'll- uh, deal with it by myself, thank you," John assured them, folding it over once to shove in his back pocket. He glanced nervously towards Holmes, still watching him with impossibly blue eyes.

"I say you ignore him like he does everyone else. That'll teach him," Sally scowled, crossing her arms over her chest bitterly. "Dino's been trying to get his attention for months and Holmes shrugs him off like nothing, the arsehole."

"Let's agree to not tell him about this, then. Hmm?" Greg suggested pointedly. "We don't need him trying to pick a fight with John." That wasn't something John wanted at all and thankfully, they all nodded in agreement. Even Sally, reluctantly. Anderson would be really upset if he found out.

When the bell rang, they all reluctantly headed in from the field in their small group. Anderson joined them at the door, being one of the many people at this school that refused to be athletic in any way.

"Hi Mycroft," Greg smiled as they passed this year's (and the last three year's) school president, his girlfriend, and the vice.

"Good afternoon, Gregory," Holmes answered with a familiar smile. His five friends tried not to giggle and once they were out of ears reach of the president, Sally elbowed Greg in the side.

"I think you should write a love letter to Holmes," she teased. Greg pushed her away with his shoulder, hurriedly undoing his combination to fetch his textbooks and shoved the rugby ball away.

"Very funny. Ha bleedin' ha."

"Oh, come off it. We all know you have a huge crush on him," Anderson teased as they all went about getting their own books. Henry, of course, being the odd one out again and not owning any actual textbooks.

"One; it's not like that," Greg began, stacking two books in his arms, "two; he wouldn't go out with someone like me. And three; he has a bleedin' girlfriend, anyways."

"No he doesn't," Henry assured him suddenly. "He's single."

"Nu uh. That pretty girl is his girlfriend. They're always together," Greg insisted.

"That's Anthea. She's on the board and she's just that; pretty. They're just for show." Henry, as well as being the football captain, easily juggled being on the school board as well. He helped plan the school outings and was fairly good friends with practically everyone. "And it's more likely he'd be dating Harry, anyways."

"Why? Is he gay?" Greg asked a little too hopefully for 'it to not be like that'. Henry shook his head.

"Not really. He's pansexual."

"What?" Greg stared at him in confusion. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad yet.

"It's like a cross between being asexual and bisexual. He's only attracted to the person he likes," Henry explained, balancing his football in the crook of his knee while he opened his locker.

"How do you know that?" John asked incredulously.

"Anthea told me. I asked her if Mycroft would be interested in dating Greg."

"You did what?!" Greg nearly dropped his books. Dimmock laughed.

"You clearly like him," Henry shrugged, putting his ball away and picking up his tablet.

"Well it doesn't matter because he doesn't like me," Greg huffed.

"Not exactly," Henry murmured again. "Martin was asexual before we met,"

"So Mycroft might change his mind-?"

"Probably not. Martin's the kind of person that likes to find himself. I don't think Mycroft has ever not known who he was. But, that wasn't the point I was making. Of course he doesn't like you, therefore isn't attracted to you, because he doesn't know you. Just get to know him." Henry shrugged as if it were actually that easy. Greg frowned at him.

"Why do you know so much about this stuff, anyways?" John mused curiously.

"Psychology class. That and Martin's, well, poor Martin's a wreck," Henry sighed, though it was a strangely happy sigh as he thought about his boyfriend in any way.

"Thanks Henry, but I think I'll keep it to myself," Greg mumbled. "He's like the government and I'm just an inspector."

"What?" John couldn't help a giggle. Greg shrugged awkwardly.

"I don't know. Don't call me on stuff like this," he complained, following John and Paul to their next class. Their little group parted ways, quietly.

"You might as well give it a shot," John suggested. He really didn't see the harm in it. Holmes was rather nice, at least nicer than his brother, and easily one of the smartest people in the school which was really saying something in a school full of intellectual geniuses. Greg grumbled a little, running a hand through his dark hair.

"But he's cute and smart and rich. I mean, Henry's right. Mycroft's probably pursuing Harry Carrthurs. They're already friends, after all." Greg sighed. It was disconcerting to see his friend giving up so easily. He never gave up so easily.

"Don't you think Holmes would already be dating him if he was so intent on it?" Paul reminded him.

"His elections are always brutal. When he wants something, he takes it swiftly," John agreed, setting his books down on his desk beside Sarah. She smiled at him sweetly.

"Yeah, but that means he doesn't want me," Greg pointed out, crashing on John's other side and dropping his head on his desk.

"Because he doesn't know you," Paul reminded him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Sarah asked curiously, wrapping an arm around John's and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Greg's infatuation with the school president," Paul teased.

"Just tell bleedin' everyone, why don't ya?"

"Oh Greg. Everyone already knows." Sarah reached over to pat the back of his head soothingly. Greg groaned loudly.

"Are we still going out tonight, John?" Sarah asked casually. John smiled.

"Sure. After practice, hmm?" he suggested. She agreed with a small nod. John liked Sarah. She was kind and adorable and smart. However, he couldn't in all good faith say it would last. He went through girlfriends faster than he was proud of. They always left him, though, so he could hardly be blamed.

John waited until his communications class to read his 'love note'. It probably wasn't even a love letter. Moran was just messing with him again. That was the only explanation. Henry sat next to him which made him a little more nervous about reading it. Not that Henry cared either way, actually. John swallowed as he gently opened it.  
_  
-Dear John,_

I apologize for being unable to speak to you face to face. I'm afraid your friends would discourage you from speaking to me, but I hope you'd be willing to give me a chance. I've admired you from afar for a long time, unable to help myself from attending all of your games and finding it impossible to not follow you with my eyes whenever you're in sight. I am disappointed that I missed my chance to ask you on a date while you were single, but every time I tried to approach you, my heart seized in my chest. I do not love you, that is a ridiculous idea for someone I haven't had the chance to enjoy time with, but given the chance, I know I would come to and perhaps, you would come to love me. I don't want to cause you distress, but I had to make my feelings known. If you'd care to speak with me, you know where to locate me. I hope you will.

Love Sherlock Holmes-

John tried to keep his face the same color, but he could already feel the heat rising in his neck. He'd received plenty of love letters before, but this was something completely new. John's heart lumped up a little for reasons he didn't entirely understand. Sherlock was a prodigy, maybe a little misunderstood and a good bit mean, but he was still amazing. He was smart, he played violin like no one he had known, and absolutely gorgeous. John wasn't sure where he'd been hiding these thoughts, but they ambushed him from nowhere. John folded the letter back up and safely tucked it into his pocket.

"So?" Henry asked curiously. John only shook his head, though, and Henry understood. He focused on his class as much as possible, but most of his mind was trying to figure what to do with this new information. He couldn't just drop everything. He shouldn't even be thinking about it.

Greg met him in the hall to walk to their next class together. It was eerily quiet between them for much of the same reason.

"I'm going to talk to Mycroft," Greg finally said out loud. John nodded in a bit of a stupor.

"Uh. Yeah. I - I'm going to talk to Sherlock."

"You are?" Greg answered incredulously.

"What? Why? Do you think it's a bad idea?" John meet gazes with his friend. Greg held his hands up quickly.

"No! Not at all! I just- maybe you should wait it out?" Greg suggested. "Just in case?"

"Ah. You're right. No need to be brash." John nodded again, more to assure himself than Greg.

"Right. Good. Good." Greg patted his shoulder firmly. "Okay. There's Mycroft. Wish me luck."

[Mycroft] & Harry

"That still puts afternoon modern sculpting and young philosophers in the same room at the same time."

"I don't suppose they could share, could they?"

"I could ask them. I believe the sculptors are working on abstract pieces, however."

"See if they could change to modeled work and ask the philosophy club if they wouldn't mind being used for conceptual pieces."

"I'll see what I can do." Harry smiled at the president kindly. Mycroft made note of the changes in his tablet and sorted out the coloured mess of his schedule with a few taps of his stylus. Harry was his best tool in convincing people to do as they were told. Anthea was his best tool for making sure they were enforced and keeping track of school rumors and word. She was always on her mobile. It was the reason he always ran with them. Harry straightened his tie, the same matching blue and gold Mycroft wore today. Fortunately, the school didn't require uniform. That was a whole other level of stress Mycroft wasn't interested in pursuing. Generally, the school population was good about dressing properly. He and Harry shared a dorm anyways, so it was easy to colour-coordinate outfits.

"Gregory Lestrade is approaching," Anthea murmured suddenly, though she hadn't looked up from her phone whatsoever.

"Thank you, Anthea."

"Hi Mycroft. Harry. Uh-" Lestrade glanced at Anthea who paid him no attention.

"Anthea," Harry chuckled softly.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought - nevermind." Lestrade shook it off. Anthea's name was constantly an area of confusion around the school.

"Hello Gregory," Mycroft greeted and Harry smiled his own. Lestrade glanced toward him, then Anthea nervously. He almost appeared as if he weren't going to say anything else.

"I - Uh. I was just wondering if you need help with anything?" he offered with a sudden found strength. Mycroft was aware he wasn't actually offering help. Even if he was, of course, Mycroft had no reason to accept it. He wasn't entirely sure what he was suggesting though. Mycroft wanted to assume it was a way to spend time together, but it was so awkwardly phrased it was difficult to be sure. Harry raised his tablet a little for Mycroft alone to see.

Yes.

"Yes?" That wasn't even an appropriate response. Mycroft didn't glare at his friend, but he didn't need to for Harry to know he was annoyed.

"Oh! You do?" Lestrade lost his strength all at once. Dammit, Harry.

"I suppose." Mycroft glanced down at his open schedule in order to find somewhere to put him. Harry gladly helped him by reaching over with his stylus. Because he was a twat. "Yes. Friday afternoon, hm? After classes I need to evaluate the building and yard for yearly management. I could use another set of eyes and some company." Mycroft offered a small smile.

"Sure. I'd be happy to." Lestrade smiled, taking a step back. "I'll see you then." He left calmly, but it was clearly it had made his day. Not so much Mycroft's. It was unneeded and only put more trouble on him. He stared at Harry blandly.

"What? He's adorable." Harry shrugged, bringing his lip between his teeth. Anthea rolled her eyes, mumbling something about Harry's libido. "Don't worry. I'll come with you. Make sure he doesn't jump you."

"Thanks," Mycroft answered sarcastically. "And I'll just have to make sure you don't 'jump' him."

"It'll be fun," Harry insisted, patting his back stiffly. Mycroft calmed himself with a steady breath. He would like to say Harry meant well, but he really didn't. He knew Mycroft wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone right now and yet he still insisted on trying his patience at every turn. They were good friends, though, and he knew Harry didn't mean any harm. He didn't mean well, but it wasn't malicious.

"Home economics wants to host a bake sale for the school. They'll be using out of pocket money for start up." And it was right back to business.

"They're free to, but be sure they remember to remain in the school's nutrition guidelines."

"Of course. Where should they set up? I wouldn't suggest the cafeteria. It's been overly crowded the last few days due to free block and computer skills switching times."

"Set them up at the doors during and after supper and during the rugby game as well."

"Approaching your brother, Mycroft."

Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

"Do you think he's read it yet?" Jim giggled. "If he doesn't answer, you know you'll just have to send him more. They've got to be more intimate than that, too," he insisted excitedly, smoke exiting with his ever-amused laugh.

"I already have. They're ready to be delivered as needed," Sherlock smirked, taking the cigarette for a puff. Sebastian's hand was suddenly in his face, smothering the end of the cancer stick in his palm and gripping his hand tightly.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed passively. "Are you three smoking again?"

"Hullo Mycroft," Jim purred delicately. "We weren't doin' nuthin'," he promised, crossing his fingers over his chest.

"Liar," Anthea stated instantly. Jim stuck his tongue out at her. Mycroft only sighed though.

"Mr. Moran. Not expelled I see," he added on. Sebastian raised Sherlock's hand to his mouth, giving it an absent kiss.

"Couldn't stay away," Sebastian assured him, catching cold grey-green eyes with aggressive green ones.

"Stop loitering around the blind spot, boys. That's dangerous," Harry tacked on as they left again. Sherlock waited until they were gone before letting out his mouthful of smoke. Sebastian released his hand, shaking his burn out and wiping his palm on his jeans.

"Your brother's such a twat," Sebastian murmured.

"I dunno. I think he's kind of hot," Jim teased, swishing his hips around. "Lemme read the letters you wrote. Did you make them creepy?"

"No," Sherlock answered, flexing his probably bruised fingers. "They're increasingly dirty though. Sexual things seem to stimulate better responses."

"Sexual how?" Sebastian dared to ask.

"My sexual experience is made up entirely of your smut and Jim's stories, so," Sherlock didn't need to finish. Oh god, this was going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Sebastian had already allowed it to start (which was always his mistake) and now all he could do was watch everything implode.

"Oh my god. That's going to be brilliant, love!" Jim giggled uncontrollably. "I need a fucking camera or something for this."


	2. A Strange Device

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Two: A Strange Device

Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

Sometimes, Sebastian just didn't know what to do. One of those times was entering Jim's and Sherlock's dorm to the sound of giggling. Jim giggled all the time, it was normal. Sherlock giggling was a whole other level of problem.

"Basher! Hullo Basher!" Jim giggled loudly, completely oblivious to the blood dribbling above his lip and the volume of his voice.

"Basher!" Sherlock howled back. "Se-basher!" Sebastian slammed the door closed behind him, hurriedly locking it and hoping dearly no one had heard anything.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Calm down," Jim giggled, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling toward their room's desk. He picked up a little baggie, gladly shaking it for Sebastian to see.

"Have some. It's good," he insisted. Sebastian snatched it from him, angrily throwing it in the bin. Sherlock stared at him wide eyed.

"Don't! Basher!" he complained, managing to get to his feet to try to save his precious drug. Sebastian shoved him back effortlessly. Jim got out of the way.

"Lame," Jim groaned, grabbing Sherlock around his head. "I'll get some more later. Let him be a spoilsport." Sebastian knew Jim was perfectly capable of getting more, but that didn't stop him from throwing it out. He knocked the loose dust and miscellaneous items into the bin and wastes no time flushing them. Sherlock had a problem, surprisingly. Jim wouldn't get high by himself, Sebastian knew this for a fact, but he didn't need to when Sherlock was always more than happy to. Sherlock, on the other hand, would take to cocaine when he was bored, or stressed, or particularly upset; it didn't matter if he was alone. When he returned, both boys were gathered on Jim's bed, locked in a drug induced, heated embrace. Also not unusual and also leaving Sebastian unsure of what to do.

He decided on what the majority of his brain was telling him; drag them apart because Jim's yours. It didn't even matter if it was initiated by Jim, it always was. Sebastian grabbed the small male and forcibly removed from from on top of Sherlock with lots of disappointed noises.

"Basher, you cunt. Stop," Jim whined loudly, flailing about in hopes of escaping. "I wanna fuck."

"Leave Sherlock alone. You know he isn't in his right mind." Sebastian dropped Jim on the second bed and quickly regretting turning his back on the other druggie. Sherlock wrapped his long arms around his waist, affectionately nuzzling his back and his thin hands fondling with Sebastian's trousers.

"Sherlock!"

"You're so wound up," Sherlock groaned. "Let us help." Sebastian removed the arms around his waist but he was greatly outnumber by limbs. Jim took his chance and grabbed at the front of Sebastian's trousers, making Sebastian release one of Sherlock's wrist to grab Jim's.

"Fucking stop! You two are bleedin' wrecked."

"I know you wanna fuck me, Basher. Stop fighting," Jim growled seductively, easily working with Sherlock to make a pair of hands between them. Sebastian wasn't even sure why he tried. This happened every time. He needed to learn to just walk away. They'd sober up on their own eventually. But no; he had to feel required to make sure they didn't die. Sebastian snared both of Sherlock's tiny wrist in one hand and grabbed Jim around the neck, shoving him against the bed.

"Shh." He tried to calm them delicately. "Breath."

"Let go! Basher!" Jim squirmed viciously, trying to break free but Sherlock was easily sedated. Sebastian knew that was a lie. Sherlock would never be drugged enough to lie badly. As soon as he let go, Sherlock would get the advantage.

"You bastard! I will burn you!" Jim was small, though, and Sebastian was thankful for that. He finally tired himself out after a while, breathing heavy and laying limp with a pout on his face. Sebastian slowly released him, cautious about the backlash, but Jim stayed still. He was re-charging, unfortunately. Sebastian clung to Sherlock's wrists with one hand and used the other to find the tape in the drawer.

He had to let Sherlock go in order to tape Jim's hands to the headboard properly. Jim wormed weakly, but Sebastian had made an art of dealing with the pair of druggies. Sherlock had managed to get his hands into Sebastian's trousers, but thankfully not much further than that. Sherlock received the same treatment on the opposite side of the bed. Sebastian let out a relieved sigh, glad he had wrapped up the situation quickly. Jim was already trying to find a way out, but Sebastian knew he wouldn't. Sherlock seemed puzzled by the idea of tape, watching the silver wad in bemusement.

Sebastian threw a blanket over the pair, taking the one off of Jim's bed to cover up with. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed, the bin nearby in case one of them needed it. He really needed to watch them more carefully. If he could find out where Jim kept getting it, he would, but he wasn't too keen on telling. He really didn't want them to die. It was disappointing to know neither of them would care if he suddenly disappeared.

Sarah & [John] & Greg

John would always enjoy a date with a pretty girl. At least, that was what he told himself when he found himself thinking about a date with Holmes. That wasn't fair, though. He was pretty, too. Sarah was simple, clearly a better choice. They could have fish and chips with nice conversation and be perfectly happy. Holmes wasn't exactly a conversationalist. John forced himself to focus on his date.

"What's wrong, John?" Sarah asked softly, reaching over to pat his hand. John smiled.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just thinking about Greg." John wasn't sure why he lied. He had no need to. "He got himself a date with the president."

"That's great! I'm glad he decided to give it a shot," Sarah insisted.

"Yeah, but he's really excited. I've never seen him so excited for a date before. What if he gets hurt?"

"He's had this crush since Mycroft got to the school and kicked his arse in rugby. If he gets turned down, he'll just pick himself up and try again," she insisted. John chuckled, nodding his agreement. Greg never gave up. "Let's focus on us now, okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry." John smiled nervously.

"Don't be. You're a good friend, John," Sarah promised, leaning over to touch a kiss to his lips. Normally, he'd be thrilled, but today it was unpleasant. John had always been attracted to girls. Always! But now, his body was betraying him and he didn't know what to do. The more he thought about, the more he realized he paid more attention to Sherlock than he thought. They took a lot of their basic classes together; English, Physical education, Language, and History. As well as Medical Science and they had lunch break at the same time. It was no wonder Sherlock had a crush on him.

Greg was right. John was glad he had waited. He'd politely decline and never think about this again. He tried to focus on his date again but it was difficult. He had too much on his mind at the moment and he was sure Sarah noticed. If she did, she was being nice about not saying anything about it. When their date was finally over, he escorted her back to her dorm with a bit of doorway snogging before returning to his own. He could hear ruckus coming from across the hall which wasn't too unusual considering it was coming from Moriarty and Holmes' dorm. He ignored it and the ideas that creeped into his head. Moriarty was a notorious playboy who could easily get himself into whoever's pants of his choosing (save President Holmes') but it had never occurred to him that Holmes might be just as bad. With that thought came ideas that John would have normally had about females that were or weren't his current girlfriend.

John rushed into his dorm. Greg was stretched over his own bed with a book on his face. John wasn't sure if he was asleep, but studying clearly wasn't going well. He should write Holmes a letter back so he wouldn't have to do it face to face. It was a little cowardly, but John was trying to keep this situation between only those who needed to know. He'd be lucky if Anderson didn't give him the cold shoulder for the rest of the year. Admittedly, Anderson wasn't exactly the most friendly person to begin with.

"How'd your date go?" Greg muffled from under his book.

"Good. Why?" Greg never asked him how his dates went. It was weird. John tossed his keys into the bowl on their shared desk and began to change into pajamas for the night.

"I don't know how to go on a date with a guy," Greg explained in a dead tone. John wasn't sure what the connection was there, but he was sure there was one of some sort.

"Are you asking me or -?" John wasn't exactly an expert on the subject.

"I should go ask Henry?" Greg asked, pulling the book from his face to look upside down at his roommate. John nodded awkwardly.

"Yeah. You should," he murmured, tossing his clothes into the hamper for later washing. Greg sighed, swinging himself upright and tossing his book aside on the bed.

"Oh. Here. This came under the door for you. Another letter from Holmes, you lucky dog," he teased, stretching himself to the bedside table and extending it out lazily with a pair of fingers. John wasn't sure he wanted it. In fact, he was positive he didn't want it. He took it anyways, of course, sitting on the edge of his bed before gently tearing it open.

He didn't want it. He wished he hadn't opened it.

"Well?" Greg asked curiously. John didn't answer.

-I know I may have given the wrong impression in the beginning, but please give me a chance. You must be worried I won't be able to satisfy you like your girlfriends, but I promise that will not be the case. If you're worried I'd tell people about us, I won't if that's what you want. I know you must be worried what people think with you being a star rugby player. If you must, you could still date whatever girlfriends you want. Even if I were only your experiment, I'd be happy.-

It was worse than he thought. John wasn't sure how he had managed to go so long without realizing Holmes was completely infatuated with him. He had to let him down gently. He had to, but he wasn't sure if he could. If his earlier thoughts hadn't done anything, this sure did. He wasn't sure he could even manage to be in the same room with Holmes now. Not without thinking about this. He was suggesting John /use/ him! Not only was that a terrible thing to do, and John would never dream of it, but Holmes' ego had to be painfully low to even suggest a thing. Maybe all the talking he did was just a cover up to protect himself after all. Henry was right and he was just too shy to have proper conversation and his confidence was too low to try.

John was torn between feeling bad for him and being really confused. He wasn't going to consider it just because of this. He wasn't gay. John didn't want to think about it. This was ridiculous. He was dating Sarah right now anyways.

"John?" Greg asked suspiciously. John looked up suddenly, remembering he wasn't alone with his thoughts.

"It's nothing. Henry, yeah?" John decided he probably needed to talk with Henry too; discreetly, of course.

"Uh. Yeah. I'll go do that."

Martin & [Henry] & Greg

"Douglas is just a twat, Martin. Don't listen to him." Henry had always loved chatting with Martin. Though he lived all the way in Fitton, they had a good relationship. It had started out as being pen pals in primary school and had evolved into more once they met. Martin, and his love of flying, came down every break he got and Henry gladly paid. Martin was the whole reason he wanted to be a psychologist. Not because he wanted to /help/ Martin, there was nothing wrong with him, but because he was such fascinating person. Henry wanted to know why.

"Martin. Please. I'm not going to leave you no matter what Douglas says. Douglas is just upset because he lacks the skill required to form real romantic attachments or bonds." Henry shared a dorm with one of the rugby players, but Sebastian never stayed in the room. His bed was just as unused as it had been when he got here and save for a few of his things in the wardrobe, no one would even think he lived here. Sebastian had an unhealthy attachment to his best friend, but not even Henry would mention that. He liked the way his face was now, thanks very much. Still, it meant he was free to catch on the phone with Martin for as long as he liked without having to worry about bothering anyone. That didn't mean they didn't bother him, though. He ignored the first knock in order to talk more with his boyfriend, but that never deters them does it?

"Hold on, Martin." Henry didn't actually take the phone away from his face, Martin was a little paranoid at the moment and Henry didn't want to give him any reason to doubt.

"Ah. Sorry Henry," Greg apologized immediately, spotting the mobile against his face. "Didn't know it was your date time."

"It's not important then?" Henry asked hopefully. Greg put on a face that insisted he wasn't sure but would really like it to be. Henry sighed softly, moving out of the way to let the other in.

"Thanks. Hi Martin!"

"It's just Greg. The one that likes the ginger one? That's him."

"Bleedin' everyone!"

"I'll put you on speaker, okay?" Henry placed the phone down on his desk before resting on the edge of the bed and giving Greg the 'go ahead' nod.

"Er. I- I kind of need dating advice."

"Uh. John's way better at dating advice," Henry reminded him instantly.

"For Mycroft," Greg added on quickly.

"You asked him out?"

_/"Congratulations."/_

"Thanks. And sorta, I guess. He asked me to help him do some inspecting of the building and he doesn't actually need my help, so it has to be a date, right?" Greg insisted. Henry wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. Mycroft rarely accepted help, let alone asked for it. Harry was probably in the middle of this. However, it was unlikely Greg would get to Mycroft without having to go through Harry first anyways.

"Alright. Well, it's not a date-date, so don't worry about doing anything yet. Go on the date, chat him up a little, don't try to make any moves on him, and then I'll see what he says."

"That's it?"

"Mycroft likes simple pleasures. He probably wouldn't respond well if you did anything else. You don't want to embarrass yourself, do you?"

"Not really," Greg agreed reluctantly.

"Besides, it's not actually a date. It might be a date to you, but it's definitely not to Mycroft," Henry assured him. Greg frowned a little. "Just get to know him, Greg."

"I know, I know. Everyone keeps telling me. I'm just worried is all. What if he's actually dating Harry?" Greg sighed softly. Henry could see how nervous he was, but he was nervous for the wrong reasons.

"Just try to make friends with Harry. He's Mycroft's best friend, after all. It'll be good," Henry assured him. "Harry's more social, anyways."

"Yeah. Thanks, Henry. Sorry for bothering. Sorry Martin."

_/"It's okay."/_ Henry smiled fondly. Martin always had to be so nice. It was adorable. Greg quietly left and Henry returned to his date.

_/"You're such a good friend."/_

"Like I said. Douglas is just a twat, Martin. And Arthur's a fine friend, he's just not very helpful that's all."

Anthea & [Mycroft] & Harry

"I really need to do something about Sherlock," Mycroft murmured, mostly to himself but as always, it was nice to have Harry listening. Anthea was listening, but she didn't particularly care to give helpful advice. Good advice, but not helpful. Harry held up a pair of ties before the wardrobe, examining their likeness for tomorrow.

"You could be unbiased like you're supposed to be and bloody expel him already," Harry scoffed. Mycroft looked over his shoulder, arching a brow at his roommate pointedly. Harry glanced at him and chuckled. "I'm just joking, for god's sake. You need to lighten up."

"I'll remember that the next time to make things more stressful for me," Mycroft assured him, returning to his desk and his leisurely book. Harry hooked the pair of ties over the mirror.

"You're still complaining about that date with Lestrade? It won't be that bad Mycroft. Maybe you'll like him."

"It's not a date, thought knowing the normal occurrence of the rest of my age group, he probably does think it is, and I'm not some wing man for you. If you're so interested, you date him. It wouldn't be beneficial to anyone, but that hasn't stopped you before."

"Relationships are not for the benefit, Mycroft," Harry sang.

"I disagree, but I also digress. Date or not, not, you know I dislike having more work than necessary," Mycroft reminded him, turning the page or his book. It was easy for him to concentrate on both and lack in neither.

"But he's helping you."

"And I'll have to check his work because he doesn't know what he's doing."

"Or you could give him the benefit of the doubt."

"And be let down."

"Your brother has sent two love notes to John Watson," Anthea interrupted suddenly. Both boys looked to her incredulously.

"Sherlock?" Harry insisted. "Sherlock Holmes? Is that even physically possible?"

"Physically; yes. Logically; no." Mycroft scowled. Sherlock had to be up to something. He couldn't expect his brother to just form a crush out of nowhere. Actually, that was unfortunately all too possible. It was possible Sherlock's naturally suppressed human instincts were getting the best of him. No; Unlikely. It was also possible that Sherlock just happened to meet someone he liked. Mycroft didn't trust him, however, no matter what it was.

"Thank you, Anthea. Let me know if it continues."

"The apocalypse is coming," Harry giggled. "Your brother's in love."

"Unlikely."

Sebastian & [Sherlock] & John

Sherlock awoke with a sneeze. Instantly, he was aware he was tied down to the bed again. He really needed to tell Sebastian that it was unnecessary to tie him up. Cocaine didn't affect him the same way it did Jim. It made Jim horny, angry, squirmy, and on some occasions, bitty. A sober Jim was insistent on what he wanted, so it was only natural that a high Jim would get whatever his foggy mind wanted, even if he would later decide that these would have been bad ideas. He understood Sebastian tying Jim up.

Sherlock, on the other hand, never got 'foggy'. He knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it and he would never do something he thought would be 'bad'. He knew Sebastian was in love with Jim, but it wasn't Sherlock's fault he wouldn't confess and Jim wouldn't accept. If he absolutely has to lose his virginity, he wasn't opposed to the idea of it being Jim. He would prefer it, actually. As far as Sebastian went, Sherlock wouldn't have actually done anything to him. He was distracting him in order to prevent him from tying them up again. Admittedly, he could have found another way to do that, but he also had a habit of following Jim's lead when high.

He pulled weakly at the tape, grimacing at the thought of the sticky residue on his wrist. Jim appeared before him, his favorite little switchblade in hand. Illegal switchblade, but it wasn't as if Jim actually cared about stuff like that. He freed Sherlock's hands with a few choice cuts, careful not to nick his hands, and returned the blade to Sebastian's pocket. Sebastian was still asleep in the uncomfortable position on the floor. He was always so concerned about their lives, Sherlock didn't quite understand.

Neither Sherlock nor Jim had a very good grasp on their mortality. Jim would fight tooth and nail for his life, but only because he'd rather sting himself than be killed. Sherlock was indifferent to the idea. It was inevitable and therefore, he wouldn't concern himself with it. Sebastian was wasting his time. Jim kicked Sebastian in the shoulder, knocking him over and causing the boy to sit up suddenly.

Sebastian stared at them, clearly trying to decide if they were sober yet. Sherlock peeled the tape off of his wrist, disposing of it on the ground. He had a minor headache, but nothing he couldn't deal with for the rest of the day. He made a mental list of things he would accomplish; Seduce Watson, finish the piece he was working on, assure his brother he wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to be, make Sebastian take his drug test if he had to, chat up Henry and Greg in the typical 'does my crush like me? What does he like' conversation, and decide the best route for his experiment when Jim was in a better mood.

"Ah. Fuckin' hell." Sebastian stood, rubbing his lower back pointedly. He had obviously injured himself by sleeping on the ground like that. Then again, he always did. Sherlock didn't understand why he didn't just sleep in the other bed. It was far more comfortable and it wasn't as if he has to be /right/ there all night. Sherlock wrapped his hands around Sebastian's shoulders and before he could complain, he jerked back, forcing Sebastian's spine to flex backwards when he was clearly leaning forward.

Sebastian let out a string of in sequential curses, but when they subsided, it was clear he felt better.

"Thanks," he grumbled. Sherlock didn't offer any confirmation of having heard him.

"God, Seb. I can't believe you flushed /all/ of it. That was some really good stuff," Jim moaned, beginning to undressed from his wrinkled clothing. Sebastian obliged to look away.

"Stop buying it and I'll stop throwing it away," he suggested as he always did and never was heard. Sherlock patted out his own clothes, deciding they were worthy for breakfast.

"Coming?" Sherlock asked pointedly. Sebastian glanced into the bathroom after Jim, but nodded and followed. It was curious to watch the two interact. Jim was completely oblivious to Sebastian's feelings and Sebastian was all too aware he was in love with someone who would sell his own parents for a quick buck. No one wanted them, unfortunately for Jim.

"A-ah." John stared at him from across the hall. Sherlock made an instant choice.

"Morning," he greeted, only making John blush fiercely. He'd read the letters, then.

"Uh. M-morning," he answered. Sebastian gave a mild grunt as a greeting, still fairly sore and therefore, agitated. Good. Sherlock began down the hall towards the exit and Sebastian followed. John clearly had to go the same way.

"Sorry 'bout last night," Sherlock murmured. Sebastian glared at him.

"Oh no. It was fuckin' fantastic," he answered sarcastically. John wouldn't hear it as sarcastic though. "I just /love/ having to tie you down to keep you and Jim away from each other. I fuckin' swear, you two will maim each other one day." A little out of context, but John was in the mindset of the sexual letter he'd been sent. He would connect it into something sexual because he was already thinking about it.

"Jim's gentler than you think," Sherlock assured him. Sebastian scoffed, but didn't answer. That much was true, however. Jim picked and choose when he wanted to be nice. After they has their initial physical fight, Jim hadn't dared to be violent toward him again. It was an unspoken agreement to their intelligence. In the chance they argued on something, they wouldn't fight. It was counterproductive. Anything that couldn't be fixed with logical arguments was won with lying, cheating, and general deviousness. They had yet to have a fight that required their full attentiveness mostly due to the fact that neither of them earned anything from fighting one another.

Jim wasn't gentle towards Sebastian because he was huge and stupid. He couldn't be patient enough to be nice to him and Sebastian could handle the violence he dished out. If Sebastian retaliated, Jim would stop being physical with him. He'd also likely make Sebastian's life hell, but he couldn't have both. Sherlock knew well that Sebastian showed masochistic tendencies and even though he desired to dominate Jim, he would quickly find that he didn't like a submissive Jim. So, Jim would continue to abuse Sebastian, who would let him, and when Jim found out about his crush, Jim would abuse him more, but ultimately accept Sebastian as his lover because Jim wasn't a fool.

Sherlock was fascinated by being able to watch himself. In fact, he was sure the whole reason he wasn't like Jim was because of Jim.

"S-Sherlock," John called suddenly. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and Sebastian did the same. "Sorry. I - got your letters. I'm sorry I haven't answered yet."

"I was willing to wait a week before deciding you weren't interested," Sherlock lied. He would have only pursued John harder.

"Oh." John was surprised he was so rational. That wasn't surprising. "Well I - I'm sorry. I'm straight, Sherlock."

"I am aware," Sherlock answered simply. John was stunned.

"I - Then you understand I can't return your feelings?" he tried nervously.

"You would have, if you weren't 'straight'?" Sherlock knew it was a loaded question, but John clearly didn't.

"I- I guess I would have thought about it," John admitted, swallowing thickly. There was something wrong, Sherlock noted. John wasn't responding correctly.

"Then you did think about it," he insisted. John had to take a moment to understand what was happening. Sherlock was backing him into a corner, of course.

"I'm straight," John repeated a little more firmly. Sherlock turned his attention away.

"That's nice," he murmured, leaving a very confused and be fumbled John in the hallway. Sebastian glared at him.

"I wish you'd stop fucking with people like that," he grumbled. Sherlock grabbed his hand, tangling their fingers.

"Why? Because I'm making him question himself and his ideas? Isn't that a good thing?" Sherlock insisted. "Wouldn't you like it if Jim did this? Not just to 'fuck' with you and everyone else, but actually honestly held your hand?" Sebastian yanked his hand away suddenly.

"No."

"Liar. Making people think makes them better. You don't make Jim think so he won't change," Sherlock assured him, taking Sebastian's hand again. "I make Jim think. We run off each other. We're a pair. You're the odd one out, Sebastian. Jim would destroy you without me and you know it." Sebastian unwillingly swallowed, proving him right.

"So?" he finally growled, not even trying to escape Sherlock's grip.

"So you're special. You are obsessed. You think and you know. You know Jim doesn't understand you have a limit; a breaking point. You know that it's entirely possible that he will push you too far and you will break; maybe physically, maybe emotionally. It's the risk of loving a sociopath but you never change your mind; never get better. You are the perfect match to Jim, not me as you seem to think. With you, it's the story of the rock and the balloon," Sherlock explained to the best of his ability. Sebastian didn't always understand.

"Jim would float away without you and you would hit the bottom without Jim. Balance; safety. Jim and I are the sword and the shield. An immovable object that meets an unstoppable force. Destruction, oblivion, impossibility. One day, we will destroy each other and we are both far too aware of it. No matter what happens, no matter how long we will have been apart, we will be the end of one another. It is was an inevitably that we silently agreed to when we met."

"I hate how you talk when you're coming down," Sebastian grumbled, holding the door to the cafeteria open for him.

"We all know stories don't have happy endings, Sebastian. Don't pretend otherwise." Sherlock hummed quietly, examining the crowd and making small observations. Boring.

"Stop trying to psyche me out. It's not going to work." Sebastian shoved him forward pointedly, directing him to gathering breakfast. Sherlock helped him, but just barely.

"I wasn't trying to. It was a compliment."

"Don't compliment Watson like that."

"Duly noted."

[Greg] & John

"What's wrong?" Greg asked as John sat across from him with his breakfast. John had been acting a little strange ever since he got Holmes' love letter. It wasn't as if he hadn't gotten love letter before, even from guys. The school was completely unbiased to sexuality allowing the students to work freely and explore happily. Greg was curious as to what Holmes could have possibly written to make his friend react in such a way.

"I just had a chat if Sherlock in the hall," John admitted, staring at his food in confusion. Greg tried to move into his line of vision but John didn't respond.

"So what happened?" he insisted, trying to get more out of John. Greg really wanted to help him, but John had always kept everyone at a certain distance.

"I - don't know- actually," John murmured. "I think- I think I just told him I'd consider it."

"What? Why?" That sounded like a terrible idea! Holmes wasn't someone to take lightly. Not only because his two friends were vengeful and dangerous but because Holmes himself was self-destructive, undriven, and mean! The exact opposite of his brother in every way except for intelligence. Greg had tried to be friends with him once, when they were paired together on a project. Holmes had gotten him the best grade in the class, but not without being utterly rude and dismissive through the whole thing. Greg preferred they stay acquaintances.

"Not on purpose!" John answered swiftly. "He - he talked me into it somehow. I don't know. It was weird." He sighed, pushing his plate away and putting his head down. Greg arched a brow suspiciously.

"The unfortunate part is that I believe you." Greg scoffed. That sounded like a Holmes thing. It had to be hereditary too, because Mycroft was perfectly capable of talking anyone into doing anything.

"I don't like him," John said suddenly, very defensive and upset for no clear reason. Greg put his hands up quickly.

"Never said you were, mate. You're as straight as they come." Greg chuckled, light heartedly teasing his friend. John forced a smile, but he didn't seem to enjoy it.

"Thanks Greg." John hummed softly, calming himself down a little.

"And you know, no one cares if you're not," Greg added in. John glared at him.

"But I am. I'm straight Greg."

"Okay, okay. Just sayin' is all. Maybe you could get two birds with one stone? If you set Anderson up with Holmes, he won't pin after you and Anderson would be a twat when he finds out," Greg suggested, picking grapes off John's plate. John arched a brow appreciatively.

"That's brilliant, actually. How would I even begin to do that, though? Sherlock would realize something was wrong immediately."

"Ask him to hang out with you, then you hang out with Anderson. It puts them in close proximity so you can act as the wingman," Greg explained, smiling at his own genius. John thought about it.

"This is a terrible idea."

"But it'll work."


	3. Drowning Lessons

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Three: Drowning Lessons

Sally & [John] & Anderson

"Hey, Dino, can we talk?" John motioned rather awkwardly with his hands. He wasn't completely sure how he was supposed to be going about something like this. He didn't want to appear rude or mean towards Sherlock, but he really wanted to nip this in the arse before it got out of hand. Anderson glanced up to him a little, looking away from his book curiously. Sally shot John a glare.

"Sure. 'bout what?" Anderson answered with a weary curve of the brow. John decided that this was a bad idea and Greg had no idea what he was talking about. On the other hand, he had received another note from Sherlock, making three in two days, and this one was even worse. That was surprising, of course, he was sure they would get gradually worse until he did something about it. He wasn't even sure there was anything he could do about it. Sherlock wasn't just going to give up.

"About Holmes. Sherlock?" John suggested casually. Anderson seemed to lighten up just a little.

"Okay," he answered with an air of cautiousness.

"Uh. Well," John made sure he was a precautionary step back, just in case his non athletic friend suddenly decided to swing at him, "he seems to have taken a liking to me. Which I don't actually want, before you jump to any conclusions. But since he's put me in this position anyways, I thought- I could help you and him get together?" It was worth a shot, anyways. Anderson stared at him for several long seconds, clearly trying to make some sense of what had just happened.

"Why?" he finally asked. Sally mimicked the question with her eyes.

"Because you're my friend and nothing against Holmes, but he's not really my type," John joked stiffly. It clearly wasn't funny and no one laughed.

"How do you expect to do that exactly?" Anderson continued on wearily. John understood his worry. Sherlock was a little cruel but why Anderson would think John would help Sherlock be cruel was beyond him. Then again, one could never be too careful around Sherlock and his friends.

"I thought we could go to the cinema. The lot of us. I'll invite Sherlock and just kind of let things go from there."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Sally scoffed. John couldn't argue with her, but it wasn't like there was a better way.

"Do you really think he'd go for it?" Anderson asked tentatively.

"Worth a shot?" John shrugged, knowing it was less than helpful. Anderson glanced toward Sally, unsure but clearly willing to try. Sally looked away sharply, but didn't offer enough disagreement to pass it on.

"If you'd think you could help." Anderson smiled that strange smile that always seemed far more bitter than it really was. John assumed it was his face shape or something. John returned the small smile.

Anthea & [Harry] & Mycroft

"Nothing too unusual today. There's been word of a loose dog wandering the grounds. One of the teachers is offering a reward for him, students are guessing it's his. Should something be done?" Anthea glanced up to the pair of partially dressed young men. Mycroft sighed patiently, doing up the button on his trousers. Harry glanced over his shoulder to view the naked, freckled backside of his roommate.

"Is it hostile?" he questioned as he did up his shirt.

"How much is he offering?" Mycroft followed up.

"No. And fifty pounds," Anthea answered, rolling over on the bed. Both sighed again.

"No. Leave it. It'll solve itself," Mycroft assured her, pulling his shirt on.

"There were some strange noises coming from your brother's dorm again. No one saw anything, though."

"Pointless. Leave it alone, My." Harry answered before he had a chance. Mycroft agreed with a small nod. He'd do something about it later, but it would be personally and privately as Mycroft always did. He'd likely call his brother aside and have a mild discussion that would end as it usually did with passive aggressiveness.

"The vending people are late. The machines will be empty by noon."

"Drop the price on the cafeteria by twenty five percent," Mycroft drew on.

"And make sure the water fountains are being chilled," Harry added on helpfully. Anthea returned to her phone with no further complaints. She was, thankfully, amazing. She didn't mind not having a lot of time to spend with her boyfriend and she was on top of everything constantly. Harry had no idea how she did it, but it was a skill neither he nor Mycroft would be able to match. He focused on dressing again, fixing his tie in the mirror and pulling his blazer on with a shrug of the shoulders.

"You're still upset with me," Harry murmured. Mycroft glanced at him with an indifferent eye.

"Pardon?" he answered.

"You're upset that I set you up again."

"I am not," Mycroft promised, but Harry knew the signs of an angry Holmes.

"Yes you are. Come now, Mr. Holmes, it'll be refreshing."

"I am not upset with you for setting me up. I am upset with you for using me as bait to go after another student," Mycroft corrected coldly. Harry only chuckled. That was so Mycroft. He grabbed his roommate by the edges of his suit and turned him around to fix his perfect tie.

"Lestrade really likes you. I mean, only the whole school knows it. So what if I want to comfort him when you turn him down?" There was nothing wrong with that. Greg, while in a lower grade, was the same age as him and even a year older than Mycroft. It wasn't as though he was taking advantage of him. Mycroft frowned at him, but didn't speak a word.

"Good lord, you're really upset about this." That was bad. Harry released Mycroft's tie with an apologetic smile. "You're still going."

"Of course. It was promised," Mycroft answered simply.

"You'll enjoy it. Shush."

Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

"God, what are you listening to?" Sebastian let himself into the dorm and was instantly met with the terrible sound of what he had to guess as music. Sebastian didn't have a particular taste in music, but it certainly wasn't this.

"Stress," Jim answered simply, not breaking his eyes from his sketch book.

"Fitting." Sebastian chuckled, glancing around for any sign of drugs. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be the case today. Sherlock held his head off the edge of the bed, lazily looking at Jim upside down. "What are you guys doing?"

"Watson asked Sherlock to join him on a date with some friends. He's still dating Sawyer, though, so we're thinking of some of his intentions. Sherlock thinks he's reacting strangely, as well," Jim explained, pulling Sebastian close by his trouser pants. Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed.

"Strange how?" he asked, though he knew he would regret it later.

"He clearly is interested, at least enough to require a conversation about it, but he's avoiding it altogether. Instead of giving in to his curiosity, he's quickly backing out." Sherlock folded his fingers together and held them over his face in his usual thinking mode. "Information suggests that there is trauma from an unknown source causing him to withdraw from something in this situation."

"Guessing it's the homosexuality."

"Which would be unusual due to his sister and furthermore, his friends."

"It doesn't make him uncomfortable by proxy,"

"It's making him uneasy by conflict."

"What?" Sebastian had since long given up trying to follow this conversation. Under the music, which given its name was actually incredibly stressful, he couldn't tell who was talking. He was positive Jim was mimicking Sherlock's voice if not only to confuse Sebastian. Both of them looked at him, brown eyes and blue eyes staring at him with the very clear 'are you stupid' look.

"It means,"

"He doesn't care if his friends are gay,"

"He,"

"For whatever reason,"

"Is unnerved by the idea of being gay himself."

"Does that make it simpler?" It made it creepy if what it did. Sebastian dropped his bag at the end of Jim's bed and stood to begin to get undressed and change into his rugby uniform. He assumed they'd already considered his idea and would heckle him for it, but that never stopped Sebastian before. Sherlock was right; he was terrible at learning.

"His sister's an alcoholic," he offered. Jim and Sherlock looked to one another. "She hides it pretty well, but she's pretty wasted all of the time."

"Due to home troubles?"

"Watson shows no signs."

"Withdrawn."

"Really?" Sebastian felt as though he shouldn't know about this conversation. By knowing about it, he was responsible for not stopping it. Of course, he of all people knew it wasn't exactly easy to stop either of them from plotting especially when they plotted together. He also knew he was required to tell his teammate about this, but he wouldn't do that either. It was, sure enough, because he was a terrible person. Unsurprisingly, knowing this didn't bother him like it should.

"Oh yes. Only short term girlfriends. Unusually superficial or strictly logical conversations with his friends. Inability to completely enjoy the success of himself and others. He plays it off well."

"Best guess with limited information; his parents didn't take very well to their daughter being gay causing her to drown her sorrows and him to be afraid of the same thing happening."

"He feels required to fit the social normalcy and thus denies any idea that he wouldn't."

"It'll be challenging to get around that. It'll require you to get closer and make him feel comfortable and safe. It'll be time consuming, but supposedly the right moves will make it much easier."

"I see no reason to stop now." Sherlock finished with a simple shrug. Jim smiled a twisted lip smile.

"You guys are terrible," Sebastian scoffed. Neither of them were too offended by it. Not that they ever were to be honest. Jim hummed happily along with the next song, which like the last, had no lyrics as he watched Sebastian pull on the last of his uniform.

"So sexy, Sebby. I can't fathom why you're forever without a date," he purred like a pointy, invasive stick. Sebastian was sure he knew most of the time. It was incredible there was anything Jim didn't know in the first place but Sherlock assured him Jim was clueless.

"Not interested," Sebastian grunted.

"Oh Sebby. That hardly matters. You don't have to be interested to fuck. There's plenty of fuckable guys here," Jim continued, turning his eyes back on his sketches.

"Not gay," Sebastian scoffed. That was true, actually. He wasn't attracted to males in general, only Jim, but it seemed pointless to pursue a relationship with someone he had no interest in liking. Sure enough, he had his fair share of one nighters, but a lot of them got really clingy and it was more trouble than it was worth.

"Neither am I," Jim giggled sarcastically.

"That's because you're a huge whore."

"I'm just aromantic, Sebby. That doesn't make me a whore. I feel so insulted." Jim feigned a dramatic hand on his forehead.

"Right. You keep learning all those ridiculous words for shot. I'm going to practice," Sebastian murmured, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

John & [Greg] & Sebastian

"You asked Sherlock on a date?" Greg knew conflict when he saw it and if Moran was going to start something, it wasn't going to go without injury. With a cautious step, he approached John's side, ready to defend if needed. John, for the benefit of the doubt, didn't even flinch as the larger man approached. Moran was abnormally large for his age, and it wasn't without his harm. He would use all of his size and strength to demolish his enemies of which neither John nor Greg wanted to be one of. It was bad enough when they were practicing.

"Yeah?" John answered nervously. Everything was already planned, which made Greg feel a little sleazy, but there wasn't really any harm in it. They were just trying to get Holmes to like Anderson instead. While it wasn't inherently bad, if Holmes got hurt feelings, they would have trouble. Moran was big but Moriarty was life ruining and they were all rather protective of each other.

"You hurt Sherlock and I'll hurt your face." Moran, fortunately, was a simple man. Greg couldn't even imagine what Moriarty would threaten, or Holmes himself for that matter.

"You didn't have to warn me for me to know that," John assured him with an arch of the brow.

"Yeah," Moran mumbled. "Sherlock isn't easily hurt," he admitted, though it appeared to be mostly to himself and partly an apology. It was hard to tell.

"But he's also an incredible idiot at times. Don't take advantage of him." Moran added on sharply, "or you'll end up like Wilkes." It wasn't hard for Greg and John to unanimously decided they didn't want to end up like Sebastian Wilkes. His sudden accident made way more sense now, not that either of them would actually tell anyone. Together, Moran, Moriarty, and Holmes were a force to be reckoned with. And Wilkes was a bit of a twat anyways.

"If we're done," Greg interrupted casual. "Practice?" John glanced to Moran with a pointed look and the younger male only grunted.

Sherlock & [John] & Anderson

John knocked twice on Sherlock's dorm door. He hoped dearly this worked. Refreshed from a grueling practice, he was feeling much better about this idea. He was a little bruised, Sebastian had clearly been in a brutal mood today, but that wasn't unusual on a contact sport team full of developing young men. He'd showered, of course, and informed his girlfriend of his plan. Sarah didn't like it, but John had chosen to ignore her. She didn't understand, Sherlock wouldn't just leave him alone.

Moran appeared. It was well known that the three of them were usually found together, even to the point that Moran didn't use his own room. He glanced over John with a drawn brow. He almost seemed sympathetic. He probably was.

"Sherlock's here, yeah? We were going to the movies?" John asked tentatively, though it was unlikely Moran had forgotten. Of course he was here, but what was he supposed to say really? Moran grunted slightly, leaving the door open and retreating from it in a clear sign of invitation. John cautiously helped himself in, expecting the worse. Surprisingly, 221 was relatively clean. No worse than his own room.

Sherlock glanced to him, clearly just finished from a shower and his wet hair heavy on his head. John swallowed. Moriarty yanked a towel over Sherlock's head suddenly, catching him by surprise but not earning any response. He rubbed Sherlock's hair dry roughly, but helpfully, supposedly.

"Where are ya goin'?" Moriarty asked in a mocking tone. John thought it was mocking. He actually didn't care to spend enough time with Moriarty to find out.

"Er. 'Piggy'." John wasn't counting on Sherlock reacting to any film they saw, but he could hope.

"Oh! I want to go," Moriarty announced loudly. "Come on Sebby. We're going too." And that was the end of that discussion. John wasn't going to bother with it. Moran would surely manage.

"Jim, I ain't even showered yet," Moran grumbled.

"Your musk will bring in the guys. I mean; 'women'." Moriarty made air quotes, releasing Sherlock long enough for him to get the towel off his head. Moran glared at Moriarty.

"I'm ready," Sherlock, thankfully, announced. He brought his shoulder bag over his head and approached John. A confident, but gradual gesture brought their hands together and John forced himself not to shrug it off.

"Good. Okay. The others are waiting at the gate," John agreed, nervously grasping Sherlock's hand in response. He took the lead with Sherlock at his side and Moran and Moriarty following. Greg, Sally, Henry, and, of course, Anderson were waiting. Paul was busy studying with his girlfriend and the even number rounded everything out.

"Um. Sherlock, this is Greg,"

"I'm aware," Sherlock said sharply and with great meaning. Clearly a stab at Greg's crush on Holmes. Greg forced a smile. John knew he had mentioned working with Sherlock on a project, but no one could be sure if Sherlock remembered.

"Henry, Sally, and Dino."

"That's your name?" Moriarty asked suddenly, smirking as if it were hilarious.

"No." Anderson scowled. "It's a nickname. Like how the rest of the school have been calling you Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades." It hadn't occurred to John that Moriarty would ruin his plan immediately. It should have.

"They've what?" Sherlock stared.

"Where I am Hades, being the cruelest, most scariest of the group; Sebby is Zeus, powerful but harmless unless provoked; and you're Poseidon, likely because he completes the two and 'the rest of the school' are idiots." Moriarty scoffed. He was already making everyone uneasy. "If they really wanted to take the Greek myth approach, the sword, the shield, and Perseus works much better."

"Or our names," Sherlock murmured, "of which we have."

"Sylvian. My name is Sylvian," Anderson informed him suddenly. Sherlock and Jim took far too much notice in it. John squeezed Sherlock's hand unintentionally. Okay. This was a bad idea anyways. Something good had to come of it though. Anything.

"Let's go, hmm? Don't want to miss it," John insisted and they all began to walk. It was an awkward silence at first, but fortunately Henry managed to put some decent conversation in the air.

"What teams are you guys following this year?" The question was directed straight for the uncommon two, but was taken up by everyone.

"Ireland," Moriarty said with a sudden Irish accent.

"Me too." Greg smiled with surprise. It was a little unexpected to actually have something in common. "They've a really good team this year."

"Statistically, their players are on par alone, but after seeing their last couple matches, it's looking really good." Moriarty hung on Moran's arm heavily, nearly being mistaken for a couple if everyone wasn't painfully aware of Moriarty's playboy status.

"Yeah. Until Scottland learns to work together, then they're screwed," Sally scoffed with flourished movement to cross her arms over her chest.

"England is leading right now, and I doubt they're going to give it up easily," John insisted, finding it particularly hard to disattached Sherlock from his hand. He wasn't trying too hard, he didn't want to make it obvious. It would be awkward if Anderson tried to grab Sherlock's hand while he was still holding hands with John. It would be awkward anyways, but that was unavoidable.

"England's number twelve is a brute. He shut down Australia's offense. Did ya see them after the last match?" Moran agreed, using his free arm to light a fag.

"Broke forty's ankle, hell yeah," Greg chuckled. "But he's headin' for a suspension. He can't do anything from the bench can he?"

"I dunno. He's pretty tricky," Moriarty agreed.

"They won't give him up too easily, either," Henry added in. "They might be troublesome."

"What about you, Sherlock?" Anderson asked the quiet Sherlock. He made a point of walking side by side with him, though he was smart enough to not touch Sherlock in the slightest. Sherlock looked at him pointedly and John was positive he was suspicious of something. However, he also thought Sherlock would answer something along the lines of not being interested in sports.

"England has the best chances." He shrugged minutely. "Number twelve's tactics are questionable but not actually against the rules ergo; he won't be benched or suspended. As long as he keeps his temper in check and his mouth closed, he'll be fine. Strategy wise, he'll kick the strong players out from under their teams and his team will take advantage."

"I didn't take you as the sort to care about something so-" John began but wasn't entirely sure how to finish.

"Tedious, irrelevant, stupid, barbaric, a complete waste of valuable time only useful for entertainment and holding no real value in the world?" Moriarty filled in for him courteously. John hadn't been going for those words exactly.

"I'm generally indifferent to it," Sherlock admitted. "But as all things do, it has its place." John had to guess it was purely for social status and that, in fact, Sherlock took no joy in knowing about something that didn't interest him. Of course, everything he guessed about Sherlock were utterly blind and likely wrong, but he didn't have much choice. After all, it didn't seem like Sherlock cared about social status.

"Oh. Well I'm a bit of an Englander too," Anderson offered nonchalantly.

"Assumed," Sherlock murmured indifferently.

"Anyways," John said swiftly, before any damage could be done. "You're doing violin, yeah?"

"Is that actually a question?" Sherlock wasn't being sarcastic; he actually wasn't sure. Close up, he was completely different. John tried not to think about his letters.

"Well. No, I guess. You were just in the string show, so it should be assumed," he admitted, trying not to come out as idiotic and failing horribly.

"You were really good," Henry hummed with a small smile. "What was it, anyways? The song."

"Manic depression," Sherlock answered with a quirk of the lips. It wasn't because he was terribly creepy, but rather, he really enjoyed his violin.

"He was going to do an original piece, but it intimidated the other strings." Moriarty giggled. "I doubt you understand that, but it was absolutely gorgeous."

"Maybe you could play it for us later tonight?" Anderson suggested.

"I suppose," Sherlock answered in his plain tone, but his lips gave away how pleased he was. His eyes did not. Surprisingly, Sherlock and Moriarty weren't nearly as weird as they appeared to be from afar. They were decent conversationalists, or at least were really good at pretending, and even shared some similar opinions and taste. It was disorienting to come to realize. Sherlock's hand remained in his hand the entire way while Anderson seemed to migrate closer and cause Sherlock to walk closer to John. Moriarty migrated to Moran's back.

[Sherlock] & Sylvian

It was clear Anderson was trying to grab his attention especially considering he was using many of the same techniques Sherlock had up his sleeve. It was slightly irksome to get around John trying to shrug him off. It was curious though. Did he think that would work because it had before? Why would it be so easy to sway one's interest? Sherlock absently wondered if Sebastian could be swayed if Jim was so inclined. Sherlock reminded himself that Sebastian was not a valid test subject. It was a little disgusting, too, that people could willingly change their feelings so swiftly. Sherlock was given yet another reason to not burden himself with the company of others.

Jim was bearable because he didn't hide his intentions. Sebastian was bearable because he couldn't hide his intentions. Everyone else was up in the air and Sherlock didn't like it. He could read them easily, but human reason could change irrationally and instantly. For the sake of the experiment, Sherlock wouldn't be changing goals, but he now had to show John this while simultaneously shaking off his admirer. He squeezed John's hand, walking closer to his date and making it clear he wanted to get friendly with John, not Anderson. It wasn't working. Tedious.

Sherlock was, of course, situated between John and Anderson in the theater. Lestrade took John's right side and Sally on Anderson's left. Sebastian sat directly behind Sherlock and Jim on Sebastian's right. It was shocking and Sherlock had a moment of irrational panic and anxiety. It was smothered as it always was before anyone noticed. He wouldn't admit to having social anxiety, but it wasn't his favorite task. He needed no more than one for company, two generally being the maximum.

The movie began and Sherlock instantly lost interest. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be in the cinema in the first place but he stood it. He did all the little signs when appropriate, gripping John's hand, leaning against him, and politely sharing his kettle corn. He didn't hide his face, though. Sherlock didn't think he could pull off that facade. On his other side, Anderson was doing the same only it was real. He clung to Sherlock's hand, leaned into him, and even plunged his face right into Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock stared at him sharply, but it went unnoticed.

It wasn't long before Jim was tapping on the back of his neck. Sherlock slipped his hand out of John's and back to entwin his hand with Jim's as if sharing a friendly handshake. No one noticed.

'Watson's trying to set you up with the weird kid,' Jim tapped out on the side of his hand in morse code.

'I'm aware,' Sherlock tapped back. 'It's rather difficult to get him off. Suggestions?'

'Without alerting Watson?' Jim mused.

'While staying in character,' Sherlock insisted. Jim didn't respond immediately. It was a challenge.

'Give him what he wants.'

'Affection?'

'No. Watson would assume you're off of him. Sex. Fits in with your letters and will satisfy his need for your attention.'

'I don't-'

'Starr and Pepper,' Jim assured him. Sherlock had trouble placing the names, but when he did, it was informative. Porn stars. That wasn't a bad idea.

'That won't make him clingy?' Sherlock asked. Jim paused long enough for him to know that was a possibility.

'Possibly. Usual avoidance tactics?'

'Watson's friend.'

'Not close friends.'

'Close enough for a set up.' Sherlock found himself in a curious position. Perhaps John was just far enough not to take offense. Sebastian seemed to have taken notice and another hand touched his.

'Want me to deal with him?' As loyal as always, Sebastian wasn't happy with Anderson giving Sherlock any unwanted attention.

'Not yet.' No point in causing unneeded conflict. Sebastian withdrew his hand.

'I'll give it a shot. It should hold for the night.' Sherlock withdrew his hand. He cautiously stood and John looked at him suddenly.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly and softly. Sherlock smiled slightly and assured him everything was fine with a nod. He waited for John to turn back to his movie before Sherlock turned his attention to Anderson.

"Come with me," he murmured in the most seductive voice he could manage. Anderson stared at him with huge eyes and was instantly ready to come with him. It should have been suspicious, but apparently not. The younger man followed him out of the theater and once out, turned to him.

"Is something wrong?" Anderson asked nervously. Out of the startling moment, he was suspicious. Sherlock took him by the wrist and hurried along to the nearest loo. He dragged him in, feeling Anderson's pulse quicken under his hand. The desires of students his own age were disgusting. He pulled Anderson into one of the stalls, the small area already forcing them close.

"What are you-?"

"I know you like me," Sherlock assured him with a velvet voice. He pushed himself against the smaller body, hips pinned against Anderson's. "I've read your letters, Slyvian." He could see Anderson's throat drying up. He didn't know what to do with his hands or his face, apparently.

"You- you did?"

"Mm," Sherlock agreed. "But I'm interested in John, Sylvian. I always have been and if you ruin this for me-" He bucked his hips making Anderson moan. "We're going to have a problem. Do you understand?" Anderson nodded swiftly, biting his lips desperately.

"Good. Your affections are skin deep, anyways." Sherlock pressed his palms against the smooth wall, giving himself more leverage. "You wouldn't like me, Sylvian. Few people seem to. So /stop/." For making everything up on the spot, Sherlock thought he was managing well. He could reject Anderson without the negative protocol thanks to arousal. Not ideal, since Sherlock hated physical contact, but it worked.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, offering another dose of friction with a jerk of his hips. Anderson nodded his head rapidly.

"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, yes. John. You like John. Just- please." Anderson grasped at his waist, trying to pull him closer. Consequences of arousal, Sherlock hadn't fully considered that. Anderson's hard on pressed against his leg firmly. That he could deal with. When Anderson tried to kiss him, however, Sherlock swerved away.

"I don't like kissing," he murmured with less enthusiasm. Anderson didn't seem to notice.

"Okay. Okay." Anderson rutted against him desperately and Sherlock didn't have to do much. He responded the minimum amount needed to be deemed responsive. It was enough, thankfully. Anderson's breath was heavy in his ear and his body hot against him. It was highly unappealing. That was more than enough for Anderson and within moments, he reached orgasm. He breathed heavily and Sherlock put distance between them.

"Clean off," Sherlock instructed, moving to leave the stall. "This stays between us." Anderson only managed another weaker nod.

[John] & Sherlock

John was, to say the least, pleased by the change of events. Hopefully, Sherlock wasn't saying anything cruel to Anderson. He supposed that was a possibility, but he really wanted that not to be the case. Sherlock returned by himself, seating himself back in his chair beside John and instantly rested his head on his date's shoulder.

"Where's Dino?" Sally whispered sharply before John could. Sherlock glances toward her smalley.

"He'll be back in a minute." Sherlock shrugged simply, tangling his fingers in John's. Sally scowled. So Sherlock wasn't getting friendly with Anderson.

"Everything alright?" John asked curiously. Sherlock nodded carefully.

"Of course. I just needed to chat with him," Sherlock promised, leaning in to place his lips on John's jaw in a lazy motion. John swallowed thickly, trying not to show how much it bothered him. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure if it was bad or good bothered.

"About what?" John pressed on. Sherlock quietly shushed him.

"Nothing important," he was assured. John didn't feel very assured. It was clearly important enough to leave the theater. Anderson silently returned and even in the dark, his face was clearly flushed. He didn't look like he'd been crying, though. He and Sally shared a short conversation John couldn't hear and afterwards, it was clear their plan had been abandoned. Anderson didn't touch Sherlock anymore, though he was particularly heavy with the seductive looks. Sherlock ignored him.

John wasn't surprised. Whatever Sherlock had done, he had done it well. It was surprising and, quite honestly, brilliant. Sherlock could clearly take care of his own problems. His worse fears had been of Moran or Moriarty going at Anderson. John hadn't expected them to come and he couldn't exactly say 'no'. His arm somehow ended up around Sherlock's back before the end of the movie. His plan to shake Sherlock off had turned into pulling him closer. Now he couldn't take it back and Sherlock would expect more. John told himself he didn't want that. It may not have worked.

[Jim] & Sherlock

Watson's plan was easily foiled and Jim was seriously doubting his ability. He was a rugby player though, how smart could he be? If he wanted to get rid of Sherlock, he'd have to try a lot harder. However, there was really nothing he could do to make Sherlock abandon his experiment. Perhaps one thing, but Watson was too kind to think of it and his friends too stupid. It also required John to realize he was being experimented on and that wasn't going to well.

"There's something about Paul Anderson," Jim hummed happily on the cool walk home. "He's so- what's the word for it? Fuckable." He could feel Sebby tense under his arm.

"You don't have to tell me twice." Donovan agreed, her and her stupid little friend in a much better mood. Of course Anderson was in a better mood now that Sherlock had taken care of him. It was ridiculous how easy it had been. Sherlock didn't even have to fuck him.

"Yeah. A psychopathic murderer is sexy." Lestrade scoffed. Sebby tensed again, but hid the motion by reaching for a cigarette as if Jim hadn't already noticed. He had some of the weirdest triggers.

"I don't think he was a psychopath," Watson murmured, his arm lounged around Sherlock's waist delicately. Sherlock had somehow maneuvered himself into the best position to force Watson to unconsciously make a change. For being rather inept at this, Sherlock was doing a fantastic job at faking it.

"He was willingly hurting people for his own gain without regret. More so, he showed the typical signs of sadism and artificial charm. He was pretty close to it," Knight explained in his casually nervous tone. It was so annoying.

"Is that really the form of a psychopath in today's age? He might be a criminal, but I hardly see how he stacks up to a real psychopath. Jack the Ripper was a real psychopath. Piggy was, admittedly, less so," Jim insisted, stealing a drag on Sebby's fag.

"If Jack the Ripper were to make his attempts in today's day and age, he wouldn't stand a chance," Knight argued with more confidence.

"There are dozens of 'Jack the Rippers' running about free, they're simply no longer blown out of proportion," Jim debated pompously. It wasn't stimulating, but it was fun.

"Then they can't be compared to Jack the Ripper. The whole thing that made him was the panic he induced."

"You can't panic a population desensitized to violence."

"Then there can't be anymore Jack the Rippers."

"But there can be those worse than him, we simply don't notice anymore, which lowers the common conception of what is thought to be a psychopath."

"Well I'm officially freaked out, thanks." Lestrade scoffed, moving closer in to the group and unknowingly closer to what he was trying to get away from.

"Sorry," Knight apologised with a small smile.

"I'm not," Jim scoffed. He thumped Sebby's arm with the flat of his palm. "Sebby's got it." he slid his hand down further, palming the knife in his trousers seductively. Sebby growled at him.

"Can we still hear you play?" Anderson asked. Sherlock glanced to him a little, clearly unsure of it but unwilling to argue.

"I suppose," he agreed. Jim was fond of listening to Sherlock play and he was sure they would too. On the other hand, he wasn't fond of the idea of letting other people listen to his Sherlock. Never the less, they pulled into 221 to listen to Sherlock. The dorms were certainly not made to accompany eight people but they managed. Jim helped himself to Sebastian's lap, as he usually did.

Sherlock's playing was beautiful, as he always was. If Jim believed in love and if love were something that could be seen, he was watching Watson fall in love with Sherlock. The fool. This was going to turn out fantastically.


	4. Light Grenades

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Four: Light Grenades

Mycroft & [Gregory]

John's plan might have backfired, but Greg was still excited about his own date. It couldn't possibly be any worse than John's, mostly because Mycroft wasn't as bad as his brother. He didn't dress too nicely and he didn't dress in rags. He felt confident when he left the room and by the time he reached the front of building, the feeling was gone. Who was he kidding? This was a terrible idea. Why did he let them talk him into this?

"Afternoon, Gregory." Harry smiled at him.

"Hey," Greg answered nervously. "Where's Mycroft?"

"He'll be about in a moment," Harry assured him. Was Harry joining them? Of course he was, it wasn't a date. Not a date. "Just finishing up some paperwork."

"Ah. Well, I, what should I be doing?" Greg asked carefully.

"Don't worry yourself so much, Gregory," Harry promised. "It's not too hard. We're just examining the grounds for renovations. Everything needs to be kept in prime condition for the money we're being paid."

"You're- coming along then?" Greg knew it wasn't a date, but he was a little disappointed. How was he supposed to get to know Mycroft with his best friend around?

"Another pair of eyes couldn't hurt," Harry answered with a rather flirtatious smile.

"Course." He smiled back. Henry was right, he should make friends with Harry. It wouldn't do either of them any good to be unfriendly, at least, it wouldn't do Greg any good. "Have you known Mycroft long?"

"Since junior school," Harry assured him. "Though really, he's been bumped up so many grades, I'm surprised he didn't graduate when he was ten."

"If we could." Mycroft stepped between them easily. "I'd like to finish up before half ten." A few taps on his tablet brought up his pre-made listing. He started off and Greg followed swiftly. It was fairly easy to figure out what he was supposed to be doing, though Mycroft was much better at it and ultimately left him and Harry without much to do.

"The window up there needs a new frame," Harry noted, though Mycroft had noticed it just moments sooner. Greg couldn't bring himself to chat with either of them for fear of distracting Mycroft. The night was cool and enjoyable for a walk at least.

"Watch it!" Harry grabbed Mycroft by the back of his jacket suddenly, yanking him out of the way of the oncoming dog. Instinctually, Greg grabbed the mighty beast by its collar before it lunged at Mycroft, stopping it short and catching the creature's attention.

"As much as that's appreciated, Harry, please let me go," Mycroft scoffed, pulling free and brushing the wrinkles out of his outercoat. Greg let the dog go and it nuzzled his leg happily. It was huge, but adorable. He scratched it behind the ears and it barked.

"You're a biggie, aren't you? Should get you back home." Greg chuckled, rubbing its neck and shoulders gladly.

"Must be Mr. Starks' dog," Harry murmured, patting the creature softly on its massive head.

"Pets aren't allowed here, though, are they?" Greg questioned curiously. He wasn't arguing, of course, he loved animals, but it seemed a little irresponsible to just let them run about. Mycroft wasn't as interested in touching it, though to Greg's surprise, he wasn't disgusted by it at all.

"They're not, usually. Mr. Starks had some misunderstanding, it seems, and his canine ended up here instead of where he was supposed to be." Mycroft frowned in a put off fashion. "It got out before he could deal with it. Bring it along, would you?" He motioned to its collar again, but when Greg reached for it, the dog took off. It disappeared around the corner leisurely and without a care. Greg swiftly followed it with Harry and Mycroft close behind. The dog clearly knew where it wanted to go however and that just happened to be directly to Moran.

"Sebastian? What are you doing?" Greg stalled to a halt, watching his teammate unintentional guard the massive dog that had squeezed between him and the wall. Moran coughed into his hand, not so discreetly hiding the smoke that came out.

"Nothin'," he said gruffly. "Just needed some time away from Mr. and Mr. Know-it-all."

"Moran, my I see your hand please?" Mycroft instructed, holding out his own to accept Moran's balled up fist. Moran didn't move.

"That'd be a loaded question Holmes," he answered.

"No, but I applaud your attempt," Mycroft humored him. "As much as you refuse to incriminate yourself, it's not exactly well hidden is it? This is your last warning, Mr. Moran; Stop smoking on school grounds. You can take this dog back to Mr. Starks in the morning, as well. It seems to like you."

"Course Holmes. Anything you say." Moran saluted him sarcastically, pocketing his fist and starting in the opposite direction than they were heading. "Prikhodite." He patted his leg with his free hand and the dog followed him quietly. Greg held back an amused noise. Of course Moran was good with animals, it was rather ironic.

"That solves one problem," Harry mused. "You think he'll stop this time?"

"No," Mycroft answered blandly. Greg wasn't sure there was anything that could stop Moran from having a fag.

"Perhaps we should change their rooms again. Put some distance between your brother and them?"

"I doubt the results will be any different from last time." Mycroft sighed, tapping away on his little device. He tucked it under his arm patiently, glancing to the darken sky. He seemed to be staring at something, but Greg wasn't entirely sure what it was. He was probably naming the stars, or calculating his exact coordinate or something entirely and utterly brilliant.

"How on earth do the street lamps keep going out?" Or he was looking at the broken lamp. Greg couldn't help but chuckle and it earned him a curious look from both of them.

"I don't see anything funny about that."

"No, I just- I figured you'd be thinking something brilliant like the sound of an orchestra, or the names of constellations or something," he admitted lightheartedly. Harry offered a small laugh behind his hand.

"Lyra," Mycroft answered plainly. "Made of M56, M57, Vega, Sheliak, Sulafat, Aladfar, and Alathfar. Sagittarius made of M75, M55, M54, M70, M69, M17." His eyes remained firmly on the dark sky, pale orbs following the distant dots with mesmerizing ease.

"What are you doing?" Greg asked rather stupidly.

"Naming the stars," Harry murmured, turning his eyes to the sky in a similar fashion. Greg wasn't sure if he could actually see what Mycroft was pointing out, or even if Mycroft could see what he was naming, but it didn't seem to matter much. He just continued to list off names and numbers in a consistent tone that could lull Greg to sleep with ease. He was sure Mycroft could go on all night, there were certainly enough stars.

"That's brilliant," Greg breathed. Mycroft looked to him, pale green eyes as indifferent as they always were.

"Remembering a system of stars is not brilliant."

"Not that. Bleedin' hell, you."

Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

"I didn't know you had a brother," Jim teased. Sebastian wasn't sure what he expected when he brought the dog back to the dorm, but it was along the lines of that. The dog sniffed around curiously. Sherlock made of a show of avoiding it, hurriedly climbing onto his bed and out of reach of the sniffling nose.

"It's Gladstone. Starks' dog," Sebastian explained, turning the desk chair around to seat himself in. He was tempted to try and finish his smoke that Holmes had so kindly interrupted, but he was running low on cigarettes and it would be nothing but a pain to have to go out and get them before the weekend. Gladstone placed his paws on the edge of Sherlock's bed noisily sniffing at the occupant.

"Get it away, Sebastian," Sherlock whined in a surprisingly Jim voice, right down to the Irish accent. Jim faltered in his voice constantly and willingly, but Sherlock, while he was capable of, did not. The only reason he would mimic Jim would be to get Sebastian to do something immediately and it worked. He grabbed Gladstone by the collar and pulled him away from Sherlock roughly. He couldn't help it, even though Sebastian knew Sherlock wasn't Jim.

"Are you afraid of dogs, Sherlock?" He couldn't possibly be. After all the time they'd known each other, something like that was bound to come up even if it was only because Jim was teasing him about it. Besides, didn't Sherlock have a family dog at one point?

"Of course not." Sherlock scoffed. "Animals have a tendency not to like me. Plus, it's filthy and drooling."

"Oh! That's the mutt the reward is being offered for, isn't it?" Jim prodded up suddenly. "We have to take him back tomorrow. We need the extra for our plan." Our? Sebastian really didn't want to ask, as he usually didn't, but anything that required money was doubly bad.

"Our?"

"Watson, of course." Bleedin' hell. "Anderson will undoubtedly tell his little friend, who will tell Watson in an attempt to get him to give Sherlock to Anderson, but Watson will refuse because the idea of Sherlock doing anything sexual with anyone is too tempting. Sherlock is quite attractive, after all, and if Watson really is at least bisexual, he'll naturally feel jealous and want to keep Sherlock to himself."

"And you need money why?" Sebastian was sure Jim was leaving something out.

"Lingerie," Jim answered simply. This was going worse than he thought.

"You're going to put Sherlock in lingerie."

"You follow! Oh good."

"No," Sebastian deadpanned.

"No one was really asking you," Jim assured him with an amused giggle.

"No," Sebastian repeated. "Not going to happen. Not going to happen at all. Don't even think that it will. Sherlock, I know Jim talks you into a lot of stuff, but this is just- no."

"I am aware, thank you Sebastian, but it was my idea."

"You're idea- Sherlock, no offence, but that hardly seems like your idea."

"Provocativeness has been proven to be a perfectly viable strategy especially in concerns of men. The point of this experiment is to test Watson's reactions to the unusual, or what he deems to be unusual, if you had forgotten," Sherlock reminded him pointedly and unemotionally. Of course Sebastian hadn't forgotten. How could he have bloody forgotten? He had to take a moment to gather his senses, knowing it was pointless for him to get upset. Over time, he stopped getting upset more and more, but sometimes he just couldn't help were going to take this too far. Sebastian pressed his hand over his forehead and through his hair.

"Whatever." He shook his head. "When you push Watson too far, it's going to be on you two. Let's hope one of you actually learns a lesson this time."

"And when we do, you'll be there to intervene," Jim hummed. "Just like you always are and always will be."

"And what if I'm not?" Sebastian demanded. Jim stared at him with sudden distaste, a looking not completely unfamiliar but never any less frightening.

"Then you better be dead," Sherlock finished in Jim's voice. Surprisingly, it didn't make it any better. In fact, it was worse. It was worse because Sebastian knew it was true, Jim knew it was true, and Sherlock knew it was true. He wasn't sure where he'd taken a wrong turn. Sebastian wasn't even sure if he wanted to turn back. He was going to assume that was bad.

"I'm definitely on board with the purple now." Jim said suddenly. "You're a purple."

Martin & [Henry]

Henry, in general, tried to keep his head up even in the worst situations. Martin helped. Martin definitely helped. In fact, he couldn't think of a time he was happier than after somehow being in contact with his neurotic, accident prone, self-conscious, awkward boyfriend. Despite being all of those things, Martin always knew how to make him feel better. It was curious and wonderful. That was one thing Henry would never wonder 'why' about. He didn't care why, he just loved that it happened.

Sometimes, however, he couldn't keep his spirits high. Sometimes, he realized just how pitiful he was. There weren't supposed to be animals at the school, there weren't supposed to be dogs at the school, so why was there a massive, furry beast headed straight for him? Henry could only think of panic and fear and death.

"Henry?"

He didn't mean to, but Henry knew he had screamed. It was going to kill him just like his father! That's what they did! They killed things and Henry was a thing! His back hit a locker way too quickly and he quickly discovered he had nowhere to go.

"Henry!"

"Oh my god. He's afraid of Gladstone. That is hilarious."

"It's not funny, Moriarty!"

"No, it's more than funny. That's sort of what hilarious means."

"I think you should hurry and take him to Mr. Starks, Sebastian."

"Mph. Yeah."

He was cornered and stunned and it was going to get him! Henry lost touch with the rest of the world and even after the dog had been taken away, he remained huddled in the corner of the lockers and wall with his knees pressed into his chest. He could only stare blindly at the linoleum flooring, thinking of the foggy forest where his father had violently died. There was- there had just been so much blood.

"Henry? Henry listen to me."

And it just stared at him with those red eyes! It had attacked his father for no reason and it would do the same to him!

"Henry! Deep breaths!" Martin? Henry forced himself to suck in a lungful of air, nearly choking on it in his hyperventilation. "It's okay. It's okay, Henry. Shh sh sh."

"Martin?" he asked quietly, trying to level himself again.

"Yes. Deep breaths, come on. Slowly, just like you always tell me." Henry nodded quickly and repeatedly, assuring himself that Martin was right and Martin wouldn't lie to him even if he was good at lying. "It's gone now Henry. You're okay. Everything's okay now."

"Yes. Yes. Yeah. It's- everything- I'm fine," he agreed, daring to glance around in search for the creature. He hadn't imagined it, had he? It would have been worse if he imagined it. There was no dog, but a group of concerned students were watching him at a distance. Henry focused a little more, glancing up to the phone being held to his face and, surprisingly, Holmes holding it.

"John's going to help you to the nurse's office. The dog's gone, Henry. It's okay. Take your anxiety medication and everything will be okay."

"Yeah." Henry quietly breathed back, closing his eyes and slowly pushing himself up. Holmes handed him the mobile, clearly not too worried about parting with it. Henry would thank him later. John took him by the arm and gently escorted him down the hall.

John & [Sherlock]

"Thank you Martin. I'll call you back later, okay? I love you." Knight, once again the nervous wreck he had been upon arriving at the school, quietly hung up the phone and handed it back to its owner. Sherlock accepted it and pocketed it. He had only helped to impress John, but no one had needed to know that. There was a few moments of silence between the three of them before Knight straightened himself out. He was pretending to be okay, Sherlock could tell, but as soon as his medication kicked in, Henry would be fine, so he didn't say anything.

"Thank you for that." Knight nodded at him. "How did you- know Martin's mobile number?"

"A couple months ago we were sitting next to each other and he called. Your phone was sticking out of your pocket a little," Sherlock explained before realizing he probably shouldn't have. He should have lied. People didn't like him noticing things.

"You remember that?" Knight murmured curiously.

"You saw that?" John asked in overlap.

"Of course." Sherlock tried not to scoff, but it was hard. He wasn't stupid.

"That's brilliant." He must have heard wrong. No, Sherlock knew he hadn't, but it was so weird. People never said that. People never said anything near that. He didn't know how to respond, but he was sure the proper response wasn't to stare like an idiot. John didn't seem to mind, if not only because he was staring back. Sherlock found himself in a weird moment of tension that had never, in all of his memory, happened to him before.

"You'll miss class," Knight murmured helpfully. John looked away and Sherlock hurriedly gathered his thoughts. Weird.

"You're okay then?" John asked as caring as he always was. Knight simply nodded.

"I'll be fine," he assured them. John nodded and with a small motion of his head, instructed Sherlock to lead the way out. Once they were in the hall and out of earshot, John spoke to him again.

"Really though, Sherlock. Thank you for that. Henry's mentioned he was afraid of dogs before, but I never thought it was that bad," he admitted. "I don't think anyone would have known what to do if you hadn't called Martin."

"It wasn't hard to figure out," Sherlock insisted, unsure of how to answer. He was sure he was being complimented, which was good. He was making ground with John, but he didn't think it would happen due to a friend. It was a note worthy of making. However, Sherlock hadn't been expecting it at all and therefore, wasn't prepared.

"Either you don't give yourself enough credit, or you give other people too much." John chuckled. Neither. Sherlock did neither of those things. Was John actually flirting with him? He stopped in the middle of the hall and Sherlock mimicked him.

"I'm sorry about before, Sherlock." This was definitely going better than he expected. "You made me nervous, is all."

"It's okay," Sherlock answered in a rather dead tone, a warning that he wasn't prepared for this at all. John stupidly didn't notice. "I seem to make a lot of people nervous."

"I've noticed." John answered with a small smile. What exactly was Sherlock supposed to say to that? There wasn't anything logical to answer with and it ended with more staring. This- was problematic. John's tongue peeked out from between his lips. He was going to try to kiss him. Was it really that easy to make people change their minds? John had just done a complete personality one-eighty. Prepared or not, Sherlock couldn't exactly refuse. It would confuse John and put his experiment at risk. It couldn't possibly be that bad. Sherlock had kissed Jim lots of times and it was never terrible, even the two occasions where he had kissed Sebastian hadn't been horrible experiences. Experiences he'd rather not repeat, but not horrible. He'd just grate his teeth and wait for it to be over. Noting, of course, not to actually grate his teeth.

It didn't happen as suddenly as most of Sherlock's kissing experiences had gone. John was slow with it, clearly making sure it was okay first. It was and Sherlock discovered their height difference made things a little more challenging when standing. A challenge that John aced instantly by grabbing Sherlock's collar and pulling him down. It wasn't unpleasurable, but like the rest, Sherlock could have done without it. John's tongue was wet and warm and it didn't belong in his mouth no matter how nice he was about it. Sherlock responded about as well as he knew how.

Apparently, he was better than he thought he was. Then again, Sherlock didn't think much about it. After two minutes and thirteen seconds of painfully slow snogging, John let him go. He seemed a little startled, though Sherlock couldn't be sure about what. It was likely because he was still dating the Sawyer girl, or perhaps that he was still intent on being straight, or-

"Wow you're good at that."

"Thank you?"

"Sorry. I just- wow." Was it possibly he could be won over by a kiss? It did seem Jim could do an awful lot with only a kiss. Sherlock realized that must have been why John was so impressed. Sherlock had learned how to kiss from Jim. Unfortunately, it didn't appear John was going to be won over so easily. That would have been awfully boring.

"I don't know why I just did that," John admitted a little quieter. "That was just because you helped Henry," he said suddenly and overly vicious. Sherlock blinked. There were definitely signs of fear here.

"Don't get any ideas," John growled before taking off for his class. Sherlock counted it as progress. John was swaying, his defense of it had no change on the fact he had done it. This was turning out to be rather interesting. John was an interesting subject.

[Jim]

Sherlock was executing their plan well. Watson would fall in love with him and Sherlock would ultimately break his heart. However, as these things usually went, Sherlock would likely fall in love with the fool before the end of it. It was predictable and boring. Watson would likely find out and they would fight, but it wouldn't end. Sherlock wouldn't apologise, Sherlock simply didn't, no, Watson would. Real life didn't work like that, but sociopaths could bend the world around them. Jim was brilliant at it. Sherlock wasn't predictable, though. At least, Jim didn't think he was. Sherlock was a master at the normal. He could fake his way through everything and no one would be the wiser. He'd managed to fool Jim a few times. It was fun.

If Sherlock didn't fall in love, he would pretend because Watson would, undoubtedly, fall in love. People always fell in love with Sherlock at a distance. When he started to understand what Sherlock really was, he'd only fall deeper. Watson was simply that kind of person. So Sherlock, whether he loved Watson or not, would accept him, because Sherlock wasn't stupid. The longer they stayed together, the more damage Watson did to himself until Sherlock would no longer let him leave.

Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. The stupid were bound to get something right eventually and they were more right than they would ever know. Sebastian was terrifying, but he was generally harmless. He liked having friends and he didn't like seeing them get hurt, but he wouldn't generally stop it unless it directly pertained to him. He was vengeful, too, both discretely and otherwise. He knew when to make a show and when to poison a glass; figuratively of course. He could roar like thunder, frightening everyone but hurting no one or he could strike like lightning, striking only a specific spot without a sound in the world.

Jim was tagged as Hades, though for the wrong reasons. He was just as dangerous and deadly as the others as well as being notoriously vengeful, but it wasn't without reason. Hades got the short end of the stick between his three brothers, making him vengeful and bitter. Jim could blame his parents and he wouldn't be wrong, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't give them credit for anything. He was a psychopath because he wanted to be, not because they managed to be neglectful and abusive. He was a force to be reckoned with, but like in the myths, Hades was only ever lonely. Jim wouldn't agree to that statement, but something like that.

Then there was Poseidon. Many stories told him to be indifferent and non side taking, but Jim knew those couldn't be right. He was ruler of the oceans and the ocean was a cold, dark place. It was cruel and unforgiving, but not vengeful at all. Anything that wasn't vengeful was simply wrong. When people drowned, they didn't blame the ocean. It was common knowledge that when dealing with the ocean, you might very well drown. Sherlock was like the ocean. He was indifferent to most things, he didn't take sides, and people didn't blame him when things went wrong; when people drowned in him.

Sherlock was just like the ocean. There were dark secrets hidden in his depths that would kill those who dare to search for them. There were storms that struck and dragged down everything in his way. He was far more frightening than Jim. It was stupid not to be afraid of him. Jim could understand it, though. When he and Sherlock had first met, he had made that mistake. Sherlock was so lithe and harmless looking. Jim had made the mistake of picking at open wounds and then made it worse by initiating physical violence. It wasn't a fight he'd soon forget. The thrill had been intoxicating. Sherlock's violence was calculated and swift. He wasn't like Jim at all, who would gladly drag out the game until nothing was left. No, Sherlock would push everything aside and go straight for the kill.

Jim shuddered just to think of it. That wasn't the worst part, though. Sherlock wouldn't even care. That was far worse than enjoying it, or hating it. Sherlock was simply indifferent. It would be fantastic to watch Watson try to deal with him. Would Watson ever manage to deserve Sherlock's destruction, though? Even Jim couldn't pull it out again, and there were times when he tried so hard. If he could, Jim was sure there would be no more Watson. He just wanted to see it, just once. He wanted to witness Sherlock completely annihilate someone. It would probably be like he played violin; beautiful.

"Jim?"

"What?" Jim snapped at the intruding voice. He pulled the blanket down from over his head to stare at Sebastian angrily.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a stupidly careful way.

"Fine," Jim growled back. "Just horny as fuck now. I'm leaving."

"Where?" Sebastian demanded, making it clear he wasn't going to move from in front of the door. It was too easy for Jim to shoo him away, however, for Sebastian to continue trying.

"Why? Are you going to fuck me, Sebby?" And sure enough, Sebastian flinched away from the door to let Jim leave. Stupid.

Gregory & [Harry]

Harry respected Mycroft and whatever lifestyle he choose to lead, but sometimes it was just hard to understand. Honestly, Gregory's arse in his rugby uniform was something anyone could appreciate. He made a mental note to watch their rugby team practice more often. They were kind enough to work even harder upon realizing he was watching. John Watson, currently the target of Mycroft's little brother's affections, was certainly living up to expectations. He was rather small compared to the others, save perhaps Dimmock, but it didn't change anything. To be honest, Harry was surprised anyone got up after being crushed by Moran, but Watson shook it off as if it were nothing. It was clear why he was captain, too, his strategy was brilliant.

He supposed part of it was the help of his teammates, but so much of it was under Watson's instruction. Maybe Sherlock simply had found himself a little crush. It would be good for him, especially considering Sherlock's record with relationships. It was a good thing Watson was a hardy fellow. When they finally finished up their little session and began to part ways, Harry motioned for Gregory to join him by the bleachers.

"Hey Harry." Gregory smiled at him as he trotted over, drying his head on a dark purple school towel.

"Hello," Harry answered pleasantly. "Lovely practice."

"Oh. Thanks." Gregory didn't seem to know what to do. It was likely because he wasn't sure if Harry was flirting with him or not. Of course, Harry didn't make it well known that he was quite the flirt. That wasn't something someone in his position needed to spread about.

"I came down to ask if you would be interested in joining Mycroft and me for a dinner this weekend. Nothing fancy, of course. We just like to go out every once in a while for a good meal. Anthea usually joins us, but she's decided to spend some time with her boyfriend," Harry explained. Anthea never came with them, but he didn't want Gregory to think he was intruding.

"Just the three of us?" Gregory asked with a slightly discouraged smile.

"I doubt Anthea would care to be a third wheel," Harry assured him. Gregory hesitated a moment, using his towel to shake his hair out. He was clearly trying to decide what was going on. Surely it wouldn't take him that long to figure it out.

"Sure," Gregory agreed finally, smiling with more confidence. "Where?"

"Ma's Chips. It's Mycroft's favorite."

"Oh. I know where that is. What time?" He seemed a little less apprehensive now. Harry patted him on his shoulder casually.

"Let's say Sunday around four?"

"Sounds good." Gregory smiled in earnest. He was quite handsome. If Mycroft didn't come around, Harry would.

"I'll see you then."

[Anthea] & her phone

[boyfriend] [1:12 am] You know, I can't eat cherries anymore without thinking about you. You're lucky I think about you all the time, anyways.

[me] [1:12 am] I doubt -all- the time.

[boyfriend] [1:13 am] I don't have to think about you when I'm talking to you.

[me] [1:13 am] Then you're being lazy.

[boyfriend] [1:15 am] Haha. You caught me. That was a lie. I think about you even then. Now.

[boyfriend] [1:16 am] Are you going to visit me this weekend? I hate that you go to school so far away.

[me] [1:17 am] Of course. I promised I would. I'm taking the tubes down Friday night. I made Mycroft grant me permission.

[boyfriend] [1:17 am] And you're staying all weekend?

[me] [1:17 am] Leaving Sunday night.

[boyfriend] [1:18 am] Brilliant.

[boyfriend] [1:18 am] I hope you haven't been taken care of by someone else.

[me] [1:18 am] Are you suggesting I'm fooling around with someone else?

[boyfriend] [1:19 am] I'm suggesting you're too pretty to be alone.

[me] [1:21 am] I forgive you for not realizing how that sounds.

[boyfriend] [1:21 am] God I love you.

[me] [1:22 am] Good. You can say that with your tongue on Friday.

[boyfriend] [1:22 am] Wouldn't have it any other way, love.

Sarah & [John]

The thing with Sherlock had been a fluke. That was it. He'd gotten a little confused with Henry and he did something he regretted. John would admit that and he felt bad about that, but that didn't mean it meant anything. He put it out of his mind, though. Sarah's roommate, Sally, was out with Anderson, and his chances of getting off with Sarah was in the green zone. However, as they sat on the edge of her bed in a vice-like grip, she pulled away. John quickly retracted his hand from under her shirt, worried he'd done something wrong and unwillingly to make her upset.

"Sorry John, I just-" Sarah sighed patiently. She straightened out her shirt and scooted away a little. John was disappointed. Whatever had just happened, his chances were currently twiddling down to 'zero'. "What you're doing to Sherlock isn't right, John."

"What I'm- Sarah. I'm not doing anything to him." In fact, he was pretty sure it was the other way around. He couldn't prove anything, but Sherlock had definitely talked him into this on purpose. "Why do you even care? He doesn't even know you're name," John insisted with sudden agitation. This was a mood ruiner.

"That doesn't make it right," Sarah scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. There went the last of his chance.

"I'm not doing anything to him," John assured her once again.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore, John." She turned away a little, seeming more disappointed than anything else. John sighed, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. There wasn't much he could do about that, now was there?

"Okay," John said quietly, unwilling to have this fight at all. Perhaps he should have fought for it a little more, but he honestly wasn't too distressed to see it go. He needed to focus on other things right now, he argued with himself. He needed to pay more attention in class and rugby. Then he remembered that he didn't need an excuse for himself. "If that's what you want."

"This is what you want, John."

"No actually, I don't believe I've ever said that," John answered swiftly, turning his body away from her in a particularly nonaggressive manner.

"You didn't have to," Sarah snapped back. John couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation. It was so stupid. He waved her off.

"Fine. Whatever. I'm leaving," John promised and Sarah said nothing more. Once again, his girlfriend had broken up with him. John was never particularly broken up about them and this was no different. He had no reason to be upset. As he headed back to his own dorm he realized by the time morning came, the entire school would know. Which, they usually did, but this time, the entire school included Sherlock.

He wasn't sure if he was upset or thankful for that. Neither, John hurriedly decided. He was indifferent to Sherlock knowing anything about him and he was sticking to that.


End file.
